


Closer to Heaven

by Passion4Spike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Companionable Snark, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Season/Series 06, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-25 14:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17122991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Passion4Spike/pseuds/Passion4Spike
Summary: Buffy had kissed him. All ‘Gone With The Wind’, with the rising music, and the rising … everything. And then she’d pulled away, the singing demon’s spell apparently broken. What had that meant? He had to find out, but he had to be smart about this. Not just run in in a billow of smoke and demand answers. That wouldn’t do at all. He needed a plan. A good plan. A plan that would get her away from her meddling friends, to start with.With a little help from an unexpected source, a few pre-Christmas miracles, a motorbike, and some pie, Spike might actually be able to keep from buggering this plan up. Could both Buffy and Spike find themselves closer to heaven? With pie? Ala mode?Inspired by the wonderful banner done by pfeifferpack during the Road Trip themed, Seasonal Spuffy Round 25





	1. Magic Carpet Ride

* * *

**Disclaimer** : All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Joss owns all, I’m just playing in his sandbox.

* * *

 

Buffy had kissed him. All ‘Gone With The Wind’, with the rising music, and the rising … _everything_. Spike could still feel the warmth of her on his lips as he paced his crypt the next day, still taste her on his tongue, still feel the passion of her against his palms. She’d kissed him. And it had been heaven.

He wondered, as he reached the back wall and turned again, if that’s what heaven had felt like for her. Probably not, but it was as close to heaven as Spike would ever get, he was sure of that. She’d bloody well kissed him! What did it mean?

He knew what it meant to him. It was a crumb … that small crumb he’d begged for so long ago. But was that all it was? Was the rest of her still beyond his grasp? Perched up too high above him for his hands to reach? He looked down at his hands. He’d had her right here in his palms, his fingers wrapped around her, holding her, kissing her.

And then she’d pulled away, the spell apparently broken. He’d released her, not willingly, but he knew he couldn’t hold her. Not if she didn’t want to be held. She turned and ran, left him standing in the alley, stunned into immobility. And then the others had come out, her mates, their encore apparently done, and the moment was over. He couldn’t go after her, couldn’t ask her what it meant, not then, not with her friends to come between.

He looked outside the window of his crypt. It was just early afternoon. Still hours before sunset. He could go beneath his blanket, traverse the sewers, reach her house in billows of smoke and desperation.

But no. That wouldn’t do. And if the witches were there … no. He needed a plan. A real plan. Despite his reputation, he wasn’t bad at plans, he just got bored with them and succumbed to impetuousness. But this was too important to bugger up. This was Buffy. Heaven had been at his doorstep last night, a crumb. But a crumb was all he needed.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

“Right then!” Spike exclaimed breathlessly as he barged through the front door of the Summers house a bit after sundown. “Ready to go?”

Buffy looked up at him blankly from her seat on the couch where she’d been trying to check over Dawn’s homework. New math stumped her. So did old math. Math was a stumper from way back.  “Go?” she asked, her brows raising. “Go where?”

“Didn’t the witches tell ya?” Spike asked, sounding annoyed. “Said there was something needin’ attention in the hills over to the east. Something you needed t’ see. Sounded important.”

Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m not a traveling circus. If the hills are alive, then let Julie Andrews handle it.”

“Right, well, if the world’s overrun by demons t’morrow, I’ll be sure to let Jules know she buggered it up,” Spike snarked, turning to leave.

Buffy clicked her tongue disdainfully. Well, at least he wasn’t talking about the kiss. Demons she could handle. The end of the world? No problem. But she did not want to talk about that kiss. That kiss she could still feel all the way to her toes. Nope. Not talking about that.

“Fine,” she sighed, standing up. “How long will this take?”

Spike shrugged. “Depends on what we find, I reckon. Could be most of the night.”

“Let me call Xander and see if Dawn can spend the night with him and Anya. Willow and Tara are …” Buffy shook her head. “I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but they’re not here.”

Spike pursed his lips to keep from grinning like a loon. Managing a curt nod. Business as usual. Move along. Nothing to see here. “Best put on a warm coat and gloves, pet. Got the motorbike; it’ll get us there faster.”

Buffy shook her head and rolled her eyes. “If this is a new plan of yours to get me killed by giving me pneumonia…” she began threateningly.

Spike held up his hands in surrender. “Ya sussed out my evil plan. Drat! Foiled again!” he intoned sarcastically. “Bloody hell, they don’t make you superhero-types like they used to. Didn’t see Superman bitchin’ cos his Fortress of Solitude was made outta ice, did ya? It’s soddin’ California, Slayer, not the North Pole. Just put on a coat and quit whinging.”

“ _Whinging_? I can say with certainty that I’m not _whinging_. Unless it has something to do with bloodying your nose, which, I can say is becoming a real possibility,” she threatened, before picking up the phone and dialing Xander’s number.

Spike smirked and headed back outside, out of nose-bloodying range. Step one, complete.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Spike tossed Buffy a helmet when she came out. She was dressed in leather, head to toe … or okay, shoulders to toes, anyway. Heavy black boots, red leather pants, black leather coat and gloves. She had a red knitted scarf around her neck and matching knit cap on her head. She looked like someone you should address as ‘Mistress’ and say things like, ‘Yes, please, hurt me again,’ to.

Buffy caught the black helmet easily, but eyed it warily. There were golden sparkles in the dark finish that glinted in the street lights, but it was the inside she was worried about. “Where did you get this? There better not be lice in here or I will hurt you, you know that, right?”

Spike smirked. “Yes, please, Mistress.” He couldn’t stop himself.

Buffy arched a brow at him.

He cleared his throat. “Errr … I mean, no worries. New innit? Just for the occasion.”

Both of Buffy’s brows rose suspiciously. “I thought this was a _mission_ , not an _occasion_.”

“Did I say ‘occasion’? Meant ‘mission’. Get those two confused. English … bloody baffling language, it is,” Spike excused, mentally slapping himself. “Ready, then?” he asked, lifting the bike off its stand as he straddled it. He kicked the big motor to life with a roar and rumble of the V-twins firing. He revved the engine, rattling windows four doors down, as he tilted his head to the seat behind him, inviting her to join him.

“Where’s your helmet?” she wondered.

“Bad fer the image. Vampire, yeah? Big Bads don’t wear no soddin’ helmets.”

“In other words, it messes up your hair?” she wondered sarcastically.

Spike rolled his eyes. “You comin’ or not?”

Buffy sighed, gave the helmet another suspicious look, but donned it, fastening the strap tightly beneath her chin. She climbed on behind Spike, keeping a decorous distance between their bodies. She gripped the edge of the seat behind her rather than him, determined to keep this strictly professional.

“You on, pet?” Spike asked, turning to look at her over his shoulder.

“Yup,” she replied confidently, tightening her grip on the seat.

Spike smirked and turned back to the front. He shifted the bike into gear, revved the motor, and released the clutch. Buffy squeaked in surprise as she was nearly toppled off the back. She over-compensated and crashed against Spike’s back a moment later, her arms wrapping around his torso on instinct alone, holding on for dear life as he continued to accelerate.

“What the hell!?” she screamed over the very indecorous growl of the motor. “Where’s the fire?!”

Spike just smirked, turning to give her a quick, cat-that-had-the-canary-just-where-he-wanted-her look, and got another gear, jerking her body against his even harder as the transmission shifted.

“I am so gonna kill you,” she grumbled as he rounded a corner without slowing down. “If you don’t kill us both first,” she added, tightening her hold.

She could feel, more than hear, Spike’s joyous laugh rumble against her as they sped away from Sunnydale. It was the sound he made when he was in a particularly brutal battle with a demon, when he was in his element, getting his violence on, fierce and full of life … or unlife.

With the cool wind whipping past their bodies, the night racing by at warp-speed, and the warm power of the bike vibrating beneath them, Buffy knew what had triggered that laugh: freedom. She’d ridden on motorcycles before, back in L.A. Some of the boys had them in high school and she’d gotten rides a few times. But it was nothing like this. Nothing like Spike racing the wind, trying to out-run shooting stars. If they had wings, she thought they could fly.

Freedom. It was as free as she’d been since … since heaven.

There were no eyes on her here. No one looking at her furtively, now with guilt on their faces. No one needing her to be what she wasn’t. There was just this. Just wind. Just the growl of the engine. Just the exhilaration of speed. The hint of danger tempered by the fact that it was Spike giving the steed its head, but never letting it truly out of his control.

On the straight road, Buffy released her hold on Spike and sat back a bit, spreading her arms. She could pretend she was floating, flying, soaring as the air whipped past her. She could almost believe that she could fly back to heaven on the wings of a Harley.

“Faster!” she yelled over the roar of the engine and the whistling wind.

Spike obliged with another rumble of laughter and a deafening growl of the motor as the motorbike accelerated past crazy into the realm of the pathologically insane.

Yes. She knew why he laughed.

And she found herself laughing, too. Laughing for the first time in what seemed an eternity. Intoxicated on the freedom spread out before them.  A magic carpet disguised as a narrow ribbon of highway in the vast expanse of the desert. And they were riding it … to where, Buffy really didn’t know. A mission? Maybe. One of Spike’s ridiculous plans? His idea of a ‘date’? More likely. She didn’t care just then.

She laughed. That was enough.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

The air changed as they began their ascent into the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. The dry, crisp air of the desert gave way to damp air filled with the earthy aroma of fall leaves moldering beneath the deciduous trees, the fresh tang of evergreens and the scent of a campfire or a fireplace burning warm. In the hills, the road began to curve, left then right, meandering around the hills and through the valleys, climbing ever-higher into the rugged mountains. Buffy leaned against Spike, wrapping her arms around him again as their raging steed barreled around the switchbacks with barely-controlled power.

She closed her eyes, resting her helmeted head against his shoulder. She followed his lead with her body rather than her eyes, feeling him tense before a curve, his abdomen tightening, his thighs squeezing in where hers rested against them, his hips shifting slightly, his shoulders turning. Then they were leaning into the bend in the road, one with the bike, one with each other. Accelerating on the straightaways, slowing slightly on the curves. Decelerate, tense, lean, defy gravity, accelerate out of the turn, straighten, relax, ad infinitum. Buffy lost herself in the rumble of the engine, in the fresh aromas washing over her, in the rhythmic sway of the dance.

Spike felt her fall into the dance with him. Her body swaying and moving with his, perfect synchronicity. Her chest pressed against his back felt warm, soft and supple. Her arms around his waist were strong, holding him to her. If not for the cold air stinging his eyes, he would’ve sworn it was one of his dreams.

They’d always been good at dancing – anticipating each other’s moves as if they’d been rehearsed. Parry, lunge, block, feint, spin, strike, retreat. Whether fighting each other, or together against a threat, their bodies seemed somehow synced, attuned, complementary. This was no different. Just another type of dance. It’s all they’d ever done. But it always ended with a retreat by one or the other, or both. He wished one day they could find a way to just continue the dance, eliminate the retreat. He didn’t know if it was even possible outside his dreams.

As they climbed higher, patches of snow began appearing alongside the road and her breath began to fog up the visor on her helmet. A shiver rolled through her, unbidden. Her teeth began to chatter despite her best efforts to still them.

Suddenly, the bike slowed more than it had in the last hour … two hours? Three? Buffy had no idea how long they’d been riding, so lost was she in the dance. She couldn’t remember feeling so lost in anything other than despair since her return. It was like a suffocating shackle had been unlocked deep inside her. Freedom.

“Are we there?” she asked, her voice reedy and thin from lack of use and the chilly air. She raised the helmet’s visor to look around, but just saw dark trees and rocky outcroppings. No threatening demons jumped out at them.

“Not yet, pet,” Spike replied, lifting the bike up onto its stand and cutting the engine. “You’re cold.”

Spike wished, not for the first time, that he had body heat to offer her. As it was, he was actually draining the heat from her; perhaps not as quickly as the cold air, but just as surely. He wished it was July or August instead of soddin’ November. He wished the shiver he felt tremble through her was one of pleasure, not cold. He’d had dreams of feeling that shiver against him, of giving her that, but this wasn’t how he’d envisioned it.

Buffy released him and sat back, rubbing her gloved hands together, trying to get feeling back into them. “No, I’m…”

But Spike had slid off the bike and already doffed his duster. “Freezin’,” he finished for her, holding the coat up to her. It was all he had to offer.

“I’m okay, really,” she protested, but Spike’s arched brow told her he wasn’t buying that as he continued to hold the coat out to her.

Buffy sighed, resigned, and climbed off the bike. It felt odd, all her muscles seemed to have turned to rubber beneath the constant rumble and vibration of the engine. She missed the to-and-fro sway of the bike, too, the steady ground feeling foreign to her suddenly. She let Spike help her into the coat, slipping it over her own jacket, then pulled it around her body tightly, snuggling into the soft leather.

“Thanks,” she said demurely, giving him a small, grateful smile.

“Looks good on you,” he replied, letting his appreciative gaze slip down her form, taking her in. “There’s a town not too far, got a little twenty-four-hour diner there. Can stop and get a cuppa and warm up a bit, eh?” he suggested, raising his eyes back up to hers.

“Aren’t we in a hurry to save the world?” Buffy reminded him, arching a brow.

“Oh …errr … well, reckon it’ll wait a bit. No use us gettin’ there and one of us being an ice cube, eh? Never see any snowmen superheroes, do ya? Cos it’s hard t’ fight evil if yer frozen solid,” Spike pointed out sagely.

He began buttoning up his red overshirt to keep it from being whipped in the wind without his duster to keep it in place.

Buffy smirked at him, reading him like the open book he was, but shrugged. “If you say so,” she agreed, reaching her gloved hands out to stop his buttoning. “You’re off one,” she said, awkwardly undoing what he’d done with her stiff, cold fingers and straightening the shirt, getting the right buttons lined up with the right holes.

“Ta,” Spike acknowledged, unable to get more out past the lump that jumped to his throat when she'd touched him. He took a breath, trying to settle his nerves and beginning to button them up again.

“Well, I guess frozen snowmen are good for something, anyway,” she teased, watching him complete the mundane task. It gave her an oddly comforting feeling. It was just something ordinary, everyday, almost domestic. ‘Normal’ … that was the feeling … that elusive word that would never describe her life again. But this moment, this one stolen fragment in the vast continuum of time, was normal.

She turned away, stuffing her hands down into the deep pockets of the duster as she’d seen Spike do so often, and looked out into the silent darkness. What had her life come to when watching someone button up a shirt brought hot tears to her eyes?

“Ready then?” Spike asked, watching her with a bit of worry and confusion. Had he done something wrong … _again_? He couldn’t fathom what it could be – but then, that wasn’t all that unusual either.

Buffy took a deep breath and distracted herself a moment playing ‘what’s in Spike’s pockets’, identifying, by feel, the different things in the duster’s pockets. Cigarettes, his lighter, a stake, keyring, a pen, a couple of pieces of paper – receipts maybe? – his flask. His flask!

Buffy pulled out the dented, silver flask and unscrewed the lid, taking a tentative sniff. Her nose hairs burned with the fumes, making her cough and her eyes water. Catching her breath, she turned around, holding it up for him to see. “What’s in here? Paint thinner?”

Spike snorted. “Close. Cheap bourbon. Have a nip, it’ll warm ya up.”

She sniffed it again, not getting quite as close. Well, there was one thing for sure – it was made of pure fire and she was cold. She lifted the flask to her lips and swallowed a huge gulp, spluttering and coughing as it rolled down her gullet and settled in her belly like a fireball. “Smooth…” she choked out as tears ran down her face, handing the flask to him.

Spike laughed, taking it and easily downing a few swallows before handing it back to her.  “Have another nip,” he suggested.

“Maybe later,” she demurred, her voice raspy through the flames she felt like she was breathing. She took the flask and screwed the lid back on before dropping it back into the deep pocket.

“Let’s go find that diner before this burns a hole in my stomach and my guts start leaking out,” she suggested. “I could go for some warm, non-lethal liquids. Oh … are you buying? Cos …” she lifted her empty hands out of the full pockets. “I’m penniless.”

“Got it covered, Slayer. No worries.”

“Oh! In that case, maybe some pie to go with it … apple or cherry. Do you think you could cover ala mode?”

Spike snorted. “Kinda defeats the purpose of the warm liquids, doesn’t it?”

“No way … it’s like a yin and yang thing. You need the sweet, cold ice cream to offset the warm, tart fruit in the pie. It’s like, a law or something.”

“Well, far be it from me t’ break the law. Reckon I can cover it,” he agreed.

“My hero,” Buffy sighed sarcastically, moving back over toward him and the bike.

Spike grinned, pleased despite the sarcasm, and remounted the bike, getting it fired up and growling again as Buffy joined him.  She didn’t know exactly what he thought he was doing, but she was pretty sure there were no demons waiting at the end of this journey. Well, none other than the one who’s duster she was currently snuggling up in. But it didn’t matter, because that feeling of freedom remained within her, as if Spike and his Harley had actually managed to outrun her own demons, leaving them somewhere far behind. Plus – pie!

  **** X-X-X-X-X ****

Spike sauntered into the diner in front of Buffy, carefully NOT waiting for her and certainly not holding the door open for her. He’d learned that lesson in the ‘time before’. Everything now seemed to be divided up into the time before she died and the time after. But now, there was a third time – a before, during, and after, he supposed. She’d started trusting him in the time before, started seeing him as more than a monster. Given him some hope, a crumb of a crumb. And then he’d failed her, failed Dawn, and all had been lost.

He’d not been involved in bringing her back, in creating this new time, this new chance. He at once wanted to throttle the children for their hubris and fall at their feet in gratitude. But things weren’t the same; Buffy wasn’t the same. To be honest, he wasn’t the same, either. But one thing remained steadfast – he loved her. And he’d do anything he could to help her. She’d never ask for help – not for herself – he knew that, too. She was too proud for that. 

The bell tinkling above the door drew a middle-aged waitress in a teal-blue uniform from the back. Her big hair, piled high on her head in stiff, copper curls, suggested that they’d been transported back into the eighties, or even further … the fifties? The nametag on her blouse said, ‘Hope’.

“Two?” she asked, picking up a couple of well-worn menus from their slot on the wall as Buffy entered.

“Yeah, two, if ya don’t mind, luv,” Spike agreed, stomping snow off his boots on the heavy rug by the door.

The woman smiled at him, and it transformed her face from bland to beautiful … almost stunning. “An Englishman, eh? I dated an Englishman once, back in the day,” she shared as she led them to a booth beside the window. There was one other couple in the diner, back in a corner booth, and one guy sitting at the counter nursing a coffee. “Should’ve held onto that one. He was a gentleman, dependable, always willing to help – whatever I needed, day or night, he’d be there. My mother even liked him. Too bad my friends didn’t.”

She sighed wistfully, setting the menus on the table and taking a step back for them to sit down.

“You let your friends drive you apart?” Buffy asked as Spike went to the other side of the booth and took a seat.

Hope shook her head in dismay. “He had a bit of a checkered past. A reputation for being trouble, you know, the bad boy type? They thought he wasn’t good enough for me, that he’d hurt me or something. I knew he wouldn’t. He really had a heart the size of Texas under all the bravado. But … yeah, I’m afraid I caved in to the pressure. Let him slip away. Biggest mistake I could’ve made.

“You never know how good you’ve got it ‘til they’re gone, honey,” she advised Buffy in a motherly fashion. “Don’t take your young man for granted.”

“Oh, we’re not … I mean – no … he’s not my … we’re just … we … umm … work together,” Buffy stammered, sliding into the booth.

The woman looked between them a moment, assessing. “I’m clearly in the wrong line of work,” she decided, pulling out her order pad. “Coffee?”

“Yes – cream and sugar,” Buffy agreed, rubbing her frozen hands together before bringing them to her mouth to try and breathe life back into them.

“D’ya have hot cocoa?” Spike asked, looking up at the woman with his most innocent, little-boy lost expression.

“Sure do,” she agreed. “Marshmallows?”

“Sounds brilliant. You’re a true angel, pet,” he purred as an adorable smile spread across his face.

Buffy rolled her eyes at him, but said, “Could I change to cocoa?”

The woman turned her smile on Buffy, nodding. “Sure, honey. Be right back.”

“Do they teach that in vampire school?” Buffy wondered when Hope had stepped away.

“What?” Spike asked, keeping the innocent look on his face.

“That!” she hissed, pointing at his face. “That ‘Oh, I’m so innocent, I’m harmless, I’m a lost puppy, take me home’ look.”

Spike laughed. “Dunno, do I? Angelus never sent me off for a proper education. He preferred t’ home-school. Where do ya reckon vampire school is, then?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Transylvania, probably.”

“ _Pffft_!” Spike disagreed. “Drac couldn’t teach me a bloody thing.”

“That smoke thing was pretty cool,” Buffy pointed out.

“Parlor tricks,” Spike scoffed. “Blinds ya with a quick thrall or just distracts ya, makes ya look away, then drops a smoke bomb when yer not looking and ducks under the soddin’ table.”

Buffy’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think so …”

“Trust me, pet. I know the bloke. Puts his trousers on one leg at a time like the rest o’ us. Still owes me eleven quid, too,” he grumbled.

“Here you go, kids,” Hope said as she returned with the cocoa. Buffy wrapped her still-cold hands around the piping-hot mug and sighed in pleasure before she even tasted it. “What else can I get you?”

“Pie,” Buffy replied immediately. “What kind of pie do you have?”

“Blueberry, cherry, pumpkin and apple,” the waitress recited.

“Cherry – warm … ala mode?” Buffy asked hopefully, shrugging out of Spike’s duster as circulation finally began to return to her limbs.

“Sure, hun,” Hope agreed, writing on her pad. “And for you, handsome?”

“The cocoa’ll be fine for me, luv,” Spike assured her, returning her smile and wrapping his own hands around the warm mug.

“What are we doing here, Spike?” Buffy asked when Hope had gone back to get the pie.

“Havin’ cocoa and pie,” he replied innocently.

Buffy clucked her tongue in reproof as she came out of her own jacket, as well, pressing it off her shoulders and letting it fall behind her in the booth with the duster. “You know what I mean. What’s this trip about?”

“Savin’ the world, aren’t we?” he reminded her, taking a sip of his cocoa.

“From evil cocoa and cherry pie?” Buffy retorted sarcastically.

Spike studied her a few moments before setting his mug down and leaning forward, capturing her eyes with his. “Do ya remember when you said I was the only one strong enough … that you were counting me?”

“I remember,” Buffy affirmed in a raspy whisper.

“Know I let ya down, pet…”

Buffy shook her head, blinking back her emotions. She reached across the table, her arm moving without conscious thought, and covered one of his cold hands with hers. “You didn’t let me down. The way it went … that was the way it was always going to go, Spike. ‘Death is my gift’ … that’s what the guide said. That was my time. My fight was over. I was supposed to be done. I know you … I know you kept your promise after …”

“Not after … _during_ ,” Spike corrected her. “ _This_ is after. Now is after. Still got a promise t’ keep, Buffy. You still need someone strong enough to help you fight the demons. Only difference, the demons are …” He hesitated, swallowing hard, not sure if he should say it.

“Inside me,” she finished for him, barely louder than a thought.

Spike bit his bottom lip, not breaking eye contact with her. “Let me help you fight them, pet. I’m strong enough. I know this dance. I can help.”

“Business meeting?” Hope asked, grinning at them as she returned with the pie.

Buffy cleared her throat and looked away, snatching her hand back across the table.

“Somethin’ like that, yeah,” Spike replied, slowly shifting his gaze up to the woman, not sure if he should curse her or kiss her for not allowing Buffy to answer.

Hope set the pie down, along with two sets of silverware. “Can I get you anything else?”

“More cocoa wouldn’t go amiss,” Spike said, looking at Buffy’s nearly-empty cup. “Two.”

“Sure, be my pleasure,” she agreed and headed away again.

Buffy looked down at the pie, the vanilla ice cream melting atop it almost artfully. The crust looked flaky and perfectly golden, steam rose from the ruby-red cherries glistening within. It was perfect. And she couldn’t bring herself to touch it.

The demons she thought had been left behind her seemed to have caught up to them. The freedom she’d felt had faded again. Nothing was right. Everything was too sharp. Too harsh. Too cruel. She chewed her lip and closed her eyes, trying to get the feeling back. Why did Spike have to mention them? It was like he summoned them to her just by saying it.

“Something wrong with it, pet?” Spike asked when she didn’t move to eat. She’d seemed so excited for it before.

“No … I …” Buffy shook her head, finally opening her eyes and looking up at him. “I … I just need to use the restroom,” she excused, sliding out of the booth and heading for the back of the diner.

Spike sighed, watching her a moment, before downing the rest of his cocoa. He wished he could figure her out. Every time he thought he’d gotten things sussed out, she’d throw him for another loop. He really thought things had been going well, then, suddenly …

“Don’t push her too hard, Spike,” Hope said as she put two more mugs of cocoa on the table, both loaded up with marshmallows.

Spike’s head jerked around, his eyes narrowing at the woman. “Do you know me?”

Hope just smiled softly. “Lead her, show her with your actions, offer and offer again. Offer a hundred times if you have to. I know you won’t give up, but you have to let her come to you. If you push too hard, she’ll push back, she’ll resist your help. You two are too alike in that way. Too proud. Be there for her. She’ll come around. And, one day, she’ll tell you.”

“Just who the bloody hell are you?” he wondered, not sure whether to kiss her or kill her. She smelled human, looked human …

Hope patted a hand down on his shoulder familiarly, giving him a small squeeze of reassurance. “Someone you can trust,” she answered as she turned and walked away, toward the back of the diner, Spike’s eyes burning holes in her back the whole way.

 _‘One day she’ll tell you.’_ Spike had absolutely no doubt what that meant. Could it be true? And just how the bloody hell did a waitress in the middle of soddin’ nowhere know them? _One day she’ll tell you._

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Buffy leaned on the bathroom counter, staring at her reflection in the old, worn mirror. Where was she? She wasn’t here. It wasn’t her. It looked like her at a passing glance, but not if you looked closely. And Buffy looked closely. Too closely. The girl she’d been was gone. The fire was gone. The hope was gone. She may be alive, but her eyes were flat and dead. She was a shell of herself. She remembered how to act, what she was supposed to say, and how she was supposed to feel, but it all seemed so far away now. On the other side of death. The other side of heaven.

“Spike can help you, Buffy. But only if you’ll let him.” Hope’s soft voice echoed slightly off the grey, tile walls.

Buffy’s head jerked toward the woman, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Excuse me? Do I know you?”

Hope gave her a sad smile and took another step into the room, her waitress shoes making no sound at all on the well-worn tile floor. “I know you’re feeling lost and alone, honey, like you’re just going through the motions, but he can help you find your way back to yourself. Spike’s strong enough to pull you back if you wander off the path or get lost in the dark. He won’t turn away from the darkness you’re drowning in, or the horrors of your worst nightmares, you know that.”

“Who are you – _what_ are you?” Buffy demanded, taking a step toward the woman.

“Someone you can trust,” Hope replied, her eyes growing soft, almost regretful. “You can be happy again. You can be Buffy again. You can laugh, and love. _Live_. _Truly live_. Spike loves you. Trust him, he won’t let you down… but you need to drop your walls, take the first step and let him in.”

“Did Spike send you in here? How much is he paying you?”

Hope shook her head. “No, Buffy. Spike didn’t send me. I’m here for you. I …” The woman’s eyes suddenly filled with tears and she swallowed hard, wringing her hands together anxiously.

“If Spike didn’t send you, then how could you possibly –?”

“I’m someone you can trust. That’s all I can say. Please listen to me. Trust Spike. I know it’s hard. You’ve been through so much, honey, lost so much.” Hope turned away, halting in the doorway a moment before looking back over her shoulder. “Don’t lose this opportunity. Don’t waste it. You can find the light again. You can be happy. Grasp it with both hands, take what he’s offering, and let yourself live. _Please_.”

She smiled, giving Buffy a single nod, and left just as silently as she’d arrived.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Buffy went after her, but Hope was nowhere to be seen in the hallway outside the restroom. Buffy glanced in the kitchen as she passed, then around the small restaurant, but didn’t see the woman anywhere as she returned to the table.

She slid back into the booth across from Spike and began pulling her coat back on. “I’ve had enough of this so-called mission. Can we just go? I should get home.”

Spike’s brows went up. “Didn’t eat your pie, luv.”

“I don’t want the fucking pie, Spike. Take me home.”

“No,” Spike said flatly, surprising even himself, as he slid her cocoa in front of her. _‘Don’t push her too hard, Spike.’_ Bugger that. Slayer needed a shove now and again. He was the only one who could do it.

“No?” she repeated incredulously, the coat falling back off her shoulders. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“What part of ‘no’ confuses you, pet?” Spike growled. “I brought ya up here for a mission. May not be the mission I said, but it’s a mission. Not goin’ home until it’s done.”

“Haven’t you kidnapped me enough for one lifetime?” Buffy snarled back, going for the soft underbelly of her companion.

“Apparently not,” he parried, not falling for the obvious feint. “I made a promise to you, and I intend t’ keep it.”

“You promised to watch out for _Dawn_ ,” Buffy reminded him.

“Which is what I’m doin’.  She needs _you_. _Buffy_. Not this …” he waved a hand at her. “Not this shell of her sister.”

Buffy flinched, as if he’d slapped her. “I didn’t ask for this. I’m doing my best,” she ground out through clenched teeth.

Spike sighed and slid his hand across the table, tentatively covering hers as she’d done his. “I know you are, luv. But ya don’t have to do it alone. Let me help you. Please, pet. I can help.” There. Offering. He was offering. Pleading really.

 _‘He can help you, if you let him.’_ Who the hell was that woman? _‘Someone you can trust.’_

“How?” she whispered, her eyes softening, looking more like a frightened little girl than the confident, powerful Slayer he knew and loved.

“By being here, no matter what. Anything you need, I’ll give you. Anything you can’t say to anyone else, you can say to me. No guilt, no shame … the cellar dweller’s strong enough to handle it.”

_‘He won’t turn away from the darkness you’re drowning in.’_

“I don’t know if that’s enough,” she admitted softly.

“Heard ya laugh earlier,” he pointed out. “Hadn’t heard that in an age … even in the time before. That’s somethin’, yeah? A start … a crumb.”

Buffy nodded absently, her eyes distant, trying to remember the feeling. Freedom. She knew what it was. She knew the word, but the feeling had slipped away.  She refocused her eyes on him. “You’ve been up here before, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, once,” he admitted.

“So, you know this waitress, Hope?” she asked, looking around again for the woman, still not seeing her.

Spike shook his head. “No, never seen her before tonight.”

“She said some … odd things to me in the bathroom,” Buffy admitted.

“Yeah? Said some odd things t’ me, too,” Spike retorted. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Spike offered.

Buffy bit her lip, thinking, but then shook her head. “Where were you taking me tonight?”

“Closer to heaven,” Spike replied simply.

Her brows furrowed, her head shaking in confusion. “What does that mean?”

Spike gave her a smile, tilting his head toward the bike outside. “Come with me and I’ll show ya.”

Buffy chewed her lip, looking at the bike, then back at him. Freedom. “Is it far?”

“No. Come with me, pet. Let me show ya.” _Offering again._

 _‘Trust Spike. He loves you. He can help you_.’  Buffy nodded, slowly, tentatively. “Show me.”

Spike’s smile widened, the churning worry in his belly eased. He sent a silent thank you to the god of waitresses or whatever the hell Hope was. He squeezed Buffy’s hand reassuringly and slid out of the booth. He dug in his the pocket of his jeans and dropped a twenty on the table as Buffy stood up.

She picked up her jacket off the seat, but Spike took it from her and held up for her to slip into. Buffy turned and let him help her into it, zipping it up before pulling her gloves out of the pocket. Spike was holding his duster up by then and she slid into it, as well, before tugging her gloves onto her hands.

“So … heaven?” she asked as they started walking to the door.

Spike shrugged. “Not heaven, just … closer.”

Buffy furrowed her brow, trying to figure out the riddle, but nothing came to her as Spike opened the door and let her precede him out into the cold night.

A smile curved his lips as he followed her. Maybe she would let him help her. Bloody hell, she’d just let him hold the door open for her without hittin’ him in the nose! A full-blown miracle was what that was.

He turned and looked back in through the windows of the cozy diner to find Hope watching them, a hopeful look on her face. She gave him that bright smile again, the one that transformed her into something more than the sum of the parts. Then she returned to her work, clearing the empty mugs from the table, pocketing the money, taking the untouched cherry pie over to the bloke sitting at the counter.

Buffy had her helmet on and was waiting for him next to the bike. “Somethin’ very odd ‘bout that bird,” Spike muttered, tilting a head back toward the diner.

“Hope?” Buffy asked. “Yeah,” she agreed, her brows drawing together in thought. “Extra uber oddness.”

Spike looked back inside the diner but didn’t see the strange woman with the too-specific advice anymore. He shrugged as he got on the bike then rocked it down off the stand before kicking it back to life. “Ready, pet?”

Buffy slid onto the seat behind him, closing the distance between their bodies and wrapping her arms around his waist. “Ready,” she announced. “Show me heaven …”

“Not heaven, just closer,” he corrected her again. He was starting to feel nervous about this whole plan. It was a daft idea. He should just take her home. This was gonna blow up in his face. She’d hit him in the nose and laugh at him, tell him what a dumbass he was …

“I’ll take closer,” she interrupted his thoughts, hugging him tighter as he turned the bike back toward the highway. “Show me.”

He sighed. Anything she wanted. He could handle it. Hadn’t he just told her that? He took a deep breath and turned north onto the dark highway with a deep rumble of acceleration, heading higher and deeper into the snowy mountains. There’d been at least one miracle this night, maybe there could be more.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Floating on her back atop a wintry cloud of thick snow, Buffy stared up into the diamond-studded sky, up into heaven. Had there always been so many stars? She couldn’t remember ever seeing so many before. Surely, they hadn’t suddenly just exploded into existence just for her, just for this moment.

She could feel Spike beside her, waiting. Waiting for her reaction. Waiting to know if it was close enough. Could she feel it from here? The peace? The warmth? The love?

She reached across the short expanse of newly-fallen snow and found his hand. Gave it a squeeze with her gloved fingers. It wasn’t heaven. But it was closer.

They’d left the diner and headed up, higher and higher, climbing into the jagged mountains. The air was frosty. Snow began to accumulate alongside the road, then in the road. Even Spike had to slow down, although Buffy was sure he was still traveling fast enough to be put _under_ the jail, assuming a Highway Patrol officer could catch them. It was thrilling, dangerous – even more so with the slick, icy roads. Buffy sometimes felt the wheels slide, the bike fishtail. It made her heart skip a beat, but then Spike corralled it, brought the metal beast back under his control, and left her feeling exhilarated.

She’d found herself smiling again, laughing sometimes. Here she didn’t have to be in control; she could let Spike worry about it. He was strong enough. Hadn’t she, herself, said so? The only one strong enough to protect them.  

They’d curved around the mountains, through passes and switchbacks, the dance ascending toward the highest peaks. Left, then right, then left they swayed together with the bike, their bodies trembling with the power being unleashed to climb the steep incline.  It seemed like their bodies had always known this dance, as if they’d been born to it.

Spike slowed further as they left the smooth highway. The new road was rougher, but still paved. It narrowed, winding sharply through dark forests and beside precipitous drop-offs, as it zig-zagged up and up and up. Buffy held onto him tighter as they bounced through potholes needing repair and bumps created by old repairs. It seemed like the whole road was made up of either repaired asphalt or potholes, with little of the original smoothness left. They twisted and turned until all sense of direction was lost. And still they climbed. The air felt thinner. She couldn’t remember feeling quite this cold in her entire life, but the freedom was back, she wasn’t complaining about the cold.

And then, finally, they’d stopped. The wind stopped whipping past her body. The rumble of the motor died. He cut off the light and they sat there in silence. The only sound was the ‘tick, tick, tick’ of the big motor coming to rest. There was no moon, were no street lights – no lights at all as far as the eye could see. Still, it wasn’t that dark, because there were a trillion, billion, gazillion stars sparkling like diamonds against the night sky. The Milky Way on display in all its heavenly glory. And, beneath them, the glittering stars were reflected in the brilliant white blanket of snow.

Buffy got off the bike and removed her helmet, looking up, mesmerized. How many stars were there? She felt like she could almost touch them. She reached up, but they were just beyond her grasp. Almost heaven. Not quite. Closer, Spike had said. Not Heaven. Closer.

She turned in a circle, face lifted to the clear sky, taking it all in. The silence. The sparkling stars. The snow crunching beneath her boots.  Her demons seemed to have fallen by the wayside on their way up the mountain. Lost in the darkness. Frozen, perhaps, in the snow. Or simply afraid to get this close to heaven.

A few feet from the bike, she flopped backwards into a thick snowbank, sinking in a bit. It was surprisingly dry. She hadn’t expected that, and soft. It was cold, of course, but she didn’t notice it now. She was already cold. It was a small price to be this close to heaven. She waved her arms and legs, creating a snow angel in the soft glow of those far-away galaxies. An angel to keep the demons at bay.

But not the demon who’d brought her here. He had no fear of angels or demons or even Slayers, no fear of darkness or light. He dropped down beside her on his back, mimicking her, looking up from the soft bed of snow.

That’s when she took his hand. She squeezed. She didn’t let go. They lay there in the snow, looking up at the stars for some time in companionable silence. He’d told her that she could tell him anything, but sometimes what she needed was to just be silent. No one wanted her to be silent; they were always asking how she was, is she okay, can they help, can they get her anything, can they do anything. Silence is golden. She’d heard that before but never understood. Now she did.

“What is this place?” she asked, finally breaking the golden silence.

“Called Rock Creek Road,” Spike told her. “Highest paved road in California.”

“How high?”

“Ten thousand some odd feet,” Spike replied.

Buffy chewed her lip. She really didn’t have a frame of reference for that. “But not … like Everest high, right?”

Spike smiled. “No. Everest is about three times as high. But ya can’t drive up … or get there and back in a night.”

She nodded, making snow shift beneath the knit scarf around her neck, chilling her even more. “How long can we stay?”

“An hour, I reckon,” he replied. “Longer if ya don’t want t’ stop for another cuppa on the way back.”

When she didn’t say anything else he ventured, “Is it alright, then? Know it’s not really heaven … probably not really even closer. Not an idiot, am I? Just thought…”

“It’s perfect. It’s … closer, Spike. Thank you.” It felt like freedom. She wasn’t sure how to explain it to him, so she didn’t try. But the feeling was back and she just wanted to float in it. Float in the silence beneath heaven, just out of reach, but closer.

Spike turned his hand over in hers and squeezed back, his own heart full of hope, of contentment. It had helped. And another miracle … she’d actually thanked him. Was he using up all his miracles in this one night? Considering he didn’t think he had any due him, he decided to not question it too closely.

“Do you think we could do this again sometime?” she asked after a long silence.

“Sure, pet, anytime,” he agreed readily.

“Good, cos I’m freezing and the snow is melting and running down my collar and my shirt is getting wet. I think if we don’t go soon, you’ll have your third Slayer notch, cos I’ll turn into an icicle and just shatter when you hit a bump on the way down the mountain.”

Spike snorted and sat up, but didn’t release her hand. “Sorry, pet, didn’t know it would be so cold for ya. Maybe get some proper winter gear next time,” he suggested.

“Oh! Some of those socks with batteries in them that heat up! I wonder if they make full body suits like that?” she wondered, also sitting up and shaking the snow out of her hair.

Why hadn’t he thought of that!? Then he would’ve had body heat, of a sort, to share. “Look into that, I will,” he assured her as he began to stand up.

Buffy tugged him back down by their joined hands, reaching out with her other hand to gently wrap around his neck and pull him toward her. Spike leaned in, following her lead, his tongue darting out to dampen his cold, dry lips. Buffy stopped him a few inches away from touching her. “Thank you for this. It … it really means a lot, Spike. No one else … they just want me to be Buffy.”

“I want you to be Buffy, too,” he pointed out.

“But you’re the only one who’s really tried to do anything to help me find my way back. They ask what they can do, but I just don’t know what to tell them. You didn’t ask … you … you figured something out. It’s not heaven, but it’s peaceful here … it’s closer. It helps. Even if it hadn’t worked, it was kind and thoughtful and … well, I’m just trying to say, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, pet. I’d do anything t’ help you, Buffy. Anything,” he vowed.

Buffy gave him a soft smile in the twinkling, silver light of the galaxy. “Kiss me?”

Spike grinned. “Always willing to sacrifice for the greater good,” he teased, leaning in closer.

He smothered Buffy’s laugh with his mouth. His tongue teased her lips until they parted for him, welcoming him within her soft, warm depths. It wasn’t like the frantic kiss of the previous night after the singing demon’s shenanigans, but it was no less passionate for the tenderness of it. Their tongues swirled together, another dance in the dark. Spike’s free hand slipped behind her neck, tangling in her soft, ice-damp tresses which flowed like golden starlight across his skin.

He remembered the kisses they’d shared during Willow’s ‘my will be done’ spell, and this was nothing like those. There was no spell between them now. Not even a whispered remnant of one. This was Buffy kissing him. Willingly. Tenderly. Dare he even imagine, lovingly? No, he didn’t dare that. But there was no doubt that she was here with him in this moment, giving him that crumb he’d been praying for for so long.

_‘You have to let her come to you.’_

She pulled back, breathless, and rested her forehead on his, panting lightly. “Since you were home-schooled, I don’t even want to ask where you learned to kiss like that,” she teased him, pulling back to look into his eyes. They looked dark in the soft light, the blue turned to onyx, but somehow still just as expressive.

A slow grin spread across his face. “Gentlemen never kiss and tell, pet.”

“Since when are you a gentleman?” Buffy wondered, her own smile emerging.

“Since you let me be,” he replied, biting his bottom lip, studying her intently.

Her brow furrowed in the soft light, shaking her head slightly in confusion.

“Let me help ya into your jacket and hold the door for ya at the diner,” he reminded her.

“Did I? Wow, I must be slipping,” she teased, her eyes narrowing at him suspiciously. “Is this a … date?”

Spike nearly bit through his bottom lip, his stomach churning with the memory of the other time she’d asked him that. He swallowed nervously. “Do you want it to be?” he replied softly, replaying the scene, praying he had at least one more miracle left in his account.

“Do _you_ want it to be?” she countered. “I’m … not Buffy.”

Spike’s head tilted, his eyes serious, considering solemnly. ‘ _Don’t push her too hard.’_ “I can help you back to her … back to yourself. If you’ll let me. Doesn’t have to mean … doesn’t have to be a date, if you don’t want it to be. Can just be … a mission.”

She shrugged a shoulder, watching him. He wore every emotion on his sleeve … or, actually on his face, in his eyes, especially. She’d often used that against him. But now that felt wrong. He was sincere. He meant it. He was offering to help; he’d made an effort tonight to help her. She’d seen his loyalty more than once. He’d declared his love to her many times; even Dru had professed the ability to love. Hope had said he loved her. Buffy had always believed otherwise. Angelus taught her that – soulless demons can’t love – but.…

No. Don’t go there. Loyalty. That was safer. “Do you have enough money for another piece of pie?” Maybe she could get some straight answers from the strange waitress, like who the heck she was and how she knew so much about Buffy.

Spike’s hopeful heart exploded with confetti and streamers and balloons floating into the sky, some butterflies might’ve even fluttered up. “Reckon I can manage it,” he breathed calmly, trying not to let his overzealous heart get too far ahead of itself.

“In that case, I’ll let you hold the door open for me again, and buy me food, and, if you manage to get us both home in one piece and I don’t die of pneumonia, we can call it a date,” she offered.

Spike’s face broke into a wide smile, his eyes coming alive even in the dim light. “That sounds like a brilliant plan,” he agreed eagerly.

Buffy laughed. Maybe the cold had gotten to her and frozen her good sense. Or maybe it was the freedom that had swept over her as they rode, giving her glimpses of what her life might be again. Or perhaps it was just the thin air depriving her brain of oxygen, but something made accepting his offer of help seem like the right thing. Plus – pie!

Her laugh sounded like celestial harps to Spike’s senses. Lyrical. Beautiful. Something he hadn’t heard in too long, and even then he could count on one hand the times he’d been the cause of it. He stood up, pulling her with him, and they began to brush the snow off themselves and each other.

Buffy felt her heart unfreeze just the slightest bit more, which was ironic given how cold she was, as another warm glimpse of something so mundane, so ordinary wrapped around it. Normal. Isn’t this what normal people would do? Dusting the snow off each other after making snow angels? Did normal people make snow angels anymore? Well, they used to. She remembered times at her Aunt Darlene’s when she and her cousins had done this very thing. Another fragment of that elusive ‘normal’.

Buffy knew her life would never have more than snippets of normalcy, but two in one night felt like a boon, especially in this time ‘after’. Since when had being with Spike produced anything approaching ‘normal’? She smiled as they walked back over to the bike, their hands reaching out automatically, like steel filings to a magnet, connecting.

Apparently, since now.


	2. Carpe Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy should've eaten the pie.

* * *

 

Buffy’s lip jutted out in an epic pout as they stood in front of the dark diner. “Closed November 4th – 9th   due to death in family,” she read on the hand-written sign taped to the door. “That’s impossible. They were just open three hours ago … and today’s the seventh.”

She looked at Spike, who seemed equally confused. “Maybe they just closed after we left … got the dates wrong,” he suggested.

“This sign’s been here a couple of days,” Buffy pointed out, fingering the paper which had started to curl and fade in the weather. She looked around, but nothing else seemed out of place. The diner was just closed. Dark and cold. No yummy smells of coffee and pie wafting from the vents, drawing in cold, weary travelers.  Not to mention, no advice-giving waitresses who knew way too much about them.

She sighed. “Well, I guess we should just go,” she suggested, the pout never quite leaving her lips. Why hadn’t she eaten that cherry pie earlier? Carpe Pie. That needed to be her new motto. Carpe all the Pie.

“Could stop at the 7-Eleven, warm up and get some coffee, I reckon,” he suggested as they started walking back to the bike.

Buffy sighed but nodded, glancing back over her shoulder at the diner one last time, as if willing it back to life. It didn’t work.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Buffy had sulked for a bit as they had to settle for 7-Eleven coffee and tiny powdered donuts in plastic wrappers, but she let Spike buy and let him hold the door for her. Even let him pour her coffee. Date-ish, then … if you were in a redneck joke. _‘You know you’re a redneck if…’_

As if she needed more proof of Hope’s oddness, the closed diner had fully confirmed the Twilight-Zone-ness of their stop on the way up the mountain. Buffy did her best to try and remember what the waitress had said, all of it. Some of the exact words had started to fade, but she remembered the theme well enough: trust Spike. Let him help you.

Buffy watched Spike pay the cashier for the coffee and donuts, chatting with the guy amiably … in Spanish. After he paid, they sat down at a small plastic table and rickety chairs near the coffee machine, which someone must’ve thought gave the convenience store a bistro feel. They were wrong. So very wrong.

“How many languages do you speak?” Buffy wondered as she tried, and failed, to keep the white powder of the donuts from raining down on the black leather of Spike’s duster. She should’ve eaten that damn pie earlier.

“A fair few,” Spike replied vaguely, using the coffee as more of a hand warmer rather than actually drinking it.

“But English confuses you, huh? ‘Mission’ and ‘occasion’ being such difficult concepts to grasp,” she chided, dusting the powder off the leather.

Spike shrugged and gave her a boyish smile. “Can’t help but think of every minute with you as an occasion, Buffy.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. She’d expected some sort of snarky remark back. Instead she got something that was either incredibly sweet or incredibly sad.  She decided to just let it go, not ready to deal with either sweet or sad Spike.

“Where did you learn to ride a motorcycle?” she asked next, leaning forward over the table before biting into the next mini-donut.

“Here and there. First was in Germany in the forties,” he revealed. “That was a bloody education. Funny how crashin’ in ditches’ll make ya learn how to control the bloody things right quick-like.”

Buffy smiled, snorting softly. ““Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn,’” Buffy quoted.

Spike arched a brow. “And what has brutal experience taught you, pet?”

Buffy looked down at her coffee, shaking her head slowly, then she smiled softly and looked back up at him. “I guess it’s taught me that I should at least try to listen to waitresses called ‘Hope’ who bring perfect pie. Also, I should eat the damn pie.”

Spike snorted. “She did seem t’ have some … interesting insights,” he agreed. “And that pie looked bloody amazing. Wouldn’t have minded a bite o’ that myself.”

“Here, have a donut,” Buffy offered, holding the small pack out to him. “They’re dry and crumbly, and I think they’re a couple of months out of date, therefore, I’m willing to share. Perfect pie? Not so much with the sharing.”

“Bloody generous of ya, pet,” Spike teased, taking one of the donuts.

“Buffy, the sharer of stale donuts. I think there should be a statue or something in my honor.”

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Although the air had been gradually growing warmer the closer they got to home, by the time they got back to Revello Drive, Buffy was pretty sure she had frostbitten fingers and toes. Did Slayer healing cover frostbite? Was that in her contract?

Buffy slid off from behind Spike and hurried up the front walk, Spike’s duster billowing out behind her. Before Spike got the bike up on its stand and the engine cut, she’d disappeared in a swirl of leather into the house. He frowned, looking around, trying to decide what to do. Follow her in? Go to his crypt?

Although he hadn’t been on a date in this century, he was pretty sure this wasn’t how they were supposed to end. He’d been looking forward to at least one more kiss … Plus, she had his duster. Should he use that as an excuse to go in now, or save it for an excuse to come back later?

“Come on in –” he heard Buffy shout from inside as her heavy boots clambered up the stairs.

“Right, then,” he muttered to himself. Decision made. He should be grinning like a loon, instead he was feeling distinctly nervous. How much longer before Buffy came back to her senses, punched him in the nose, and told him he was a monster and beneath her? Just how many more miracles did he have on his ledger? 

He took a deep breath and dismounted the bike, leaving it parked on the street in front of the house. “Big Bad,” he reminded himself, squaring his shoulders and standing up straight, hooking his thumbs over his belt confidently. “You can handle it.”

He expected the house to be warmer than it was. Was there something wrong with the boiler? Did the house have a boiler? He hadn’t really paid that much attention. Probably it was electric. Yeah, no one used boilers anymore, did they? He didn’t know much about electric heat – he didn’t need heat, did he? – but he knew about fireplaces. And the house had a fireplace. He heard Buffy upstairs running water and moving around, so he took the bull by the horns and got a fire going. He couldn’t offer her body heat to warm up, but he could do this.

“Oh! Fire! Pretty!” Buffy cooed. “And warm!” she added enthusiastically as she came down the stairs. She was re-bundled in flannel PJs instead of leather, with fluffy, sleepy lambs printed on them, head to toe. Her heavy boots had been replaced with fuzzy pink slippers. Spike could only shake his head and grin to himself. This was the deadly Slayer who thwarted his every plan and took over his heart? Bloody rich, that was.

Buffy hung her coat and his duster up on the rack by the door and joined him next to the blaze, which he’d gotten roaring quickly with the blatant over-use of kindling and fire starters. He’d replace them later. 

She extended her hands out toward it and sighed in pleasure. “I guess I don’t actually have frostbite, do I?” she asked, turning her hands over and then back again.

Spike took her hands in his, which he’d warmed near the flames, careful to not singe himself or, you know, dust himself. Which would be just his luck. Be just like the Powers to front him some miracles and then decide to collect without warning and with extreme prejudice.

He studied her hands for a moment. They were instruments of death and destruction. He’d seen her mete out untold pain with them, too often for his liking on him. But, like this, they were small and soft and cool against his skin. They could be kind. They could be giving. She’d held his hand three times tonight, comforting, caring.

“Look okay, pet,” he assured her. “But best be sure, eh?” he suggested before lifting first her right hand to his lips and touching soft kisses to the tips of her fingers, and then her left.

“I never knew vampire kisses were a cure for frostbite,” she said softly, watching him intently.

“Cure for anything that ails ya,” he contended, lifting his eyes up to meet hers as the fire crackled next to them, painting their faces with a warm, flickering glow. “But not just any vampire.”

“No?” Buffy asked in a low voice, her breath catching in her throat.

Spike shook his head slowly, leaning in toward her soft, pink lips. “No.”

“Just yours?” she breathed, mirroring him, leaning in.

“Just mine,” he agreed, as his lips hovered over hers, waiting for her to close the last short distance.

“Can you cure me?” she wondered softly. He still held her hands between and she closed her fingers around his gently.

“I dunno … can just do my best. Closer, maybe? Closer to heaven?” he offered.

“Closer is good,” she agreed, touching her lips to his, tentatively at first, teasing, nipping gently at the supple curves of his mouth, at the full bottom lip. His encouraging moan of need vibrated against her flesh and shivered down her spine, opening the floodgates of desire inside. 

Buffy pulled her hands from his, capturing his face between her palms, her fingers dancing across his stark cheekbones, as she devoured his mouth. Spike’s arms went around her, pulling her body against his, pressing her soft curves against his hard angles. Then hands began to roam, their lips never parting as they explored, caressed, stroked finally-warm palms over fabric, searching for flesh.

Buffy’s teeth nipped just a bit too hard in her growing passion and Spike jerked back in surprise. Their eyes met, his hand going to the gash in his lip, showing her the blood. Buffy’s eyes went wide and she touched her own lips, coming away with spots of red.

“I … I’m sorry … I—” she stammered, lifting her confused, almost frightened, gaze back up to his.

Spike began to laugh, a deep, sultry laugh that flowed over her like a blanket of sex soaked in brandy. Her expression changed from apologetic to feral, like a long-caged, wild animal finally given permission to run free. She grabbed his arm, yanking him away from the fire and practically tossing him onto his back on the sofa. He was still laughing when she dove atop him, straddling his hips, pressing down urgently against the length of his hard desire. His laughter was swallowed as her mouth captured his again, her tongue demanding entrance, and his lips eagerly agreeing.

Hands began to move again, hips grinding against each other, tongues dancing, moans of need forming a symphony of passion, accompanied only by the crackling and spitting of the fire. Too many clothes. There were too many clothes. Buffy found the hem of his t-shirt and slid her hands beneath.

Flesh. Hard. Needy. Rippling beneath her palms.

More. More.

She began pushing both of his shirts up, the kiss breaking as she tried to tug them off without unbuttoning the overshirt.

“Love you … love you … Buffy … love you …” Spike rasped, his voice that same deep, rich timbre as his laugh, but the words freezing her.

She stopped moving, sat back, looking down at him with fear and denial washing over her features. “No … don’t say that. You can’t … you don’t …” she contended, scrambling up and off him, wrapping her arms around herself protectively as she went back over to the fire. She closed her eyes, clenching them tight against the emotions churning through her, her head shaking in denial.

Spike sighed, letting his own eyes fall closed, pressing his palms against them. He stifled a growl, not sure who he was more angry with, himself or her. Finally, he sat up, pulling his shirts back down, and looked at her. She looked so small and vulnerable standing there in front of the fire in flannel pajamas with fluffy sheep on them. Did she have any idea how deep she could stab him with just her words? He thought.… God, he was such a git! He thought she’d started to see, but … no, apparently not.

“Because I’m a monster? That it? Still? After all this? After all I’ve done?” he asked her back, his voice wavering between misery and fury.

Buffy’s head was still shaking, still turned away from him. He could smell her tears now, and his heart broke a little more. “No.” She said it so softly even Spike barely heard it. “Because I am.”

Spike’s brows furrowed, his own head shaking, thinking he’d heard her wrong. “What’re you on about, Slayer?”  He couldn’t call her Buffy right now, not with his heart flayed open and bleeding in his chest.

“I’m the monster,” she repeated, still a soft whisper, still facing the fire, her eyes open now, her gaze lost in the dancing flames.

“How d’ya figure that, pet?” he wondered, standing up, moving toward her slowly, like you would a feral dog – approach with caution.

Buffy’s head dropped, her chin hitting her chest and a sob shuddered her shoulders. “I can’t love. I can barely even _pretend_ to care about … anything. I was dead and … part of me still is. It wasn’t 147 days, Spike. It was …” She shook her head again, then slowly turned to face him, lifting her face up, her glistening eyes meeting his. “It was like 147 _years_. I … God, I’ve been dead as long as you have,” she realized suddenly, the idea of it making her knees give way.

Spike was there, caught her before she hit the hard hearth stone. He lifted her into his arms like a child and went back to the couch, sitting down with her in his lap, cradling her gently against his chest. “You aren’t a monster, Buffy.” There, he got her name out. That was good.

“I am,” she disagreed in a small voice. “I’m dead inside, Spike. I can’t feel … Sometimes, there are flashes, mostly of anger or resentment. But not love. Not even for Dawn. I know I love her, but I don’t _feel_ it.” She lifted her head up to look at him. “Don’t you see? I came back wrong. You can’t love me, because I can’t love.”

“I’ve got enough love for the both of us, pet,” he assured her, touching a soft kiss to her forehead.

Buffy shook her head. “And in what world is that fair?”

Spike gave her a sad smile. “Seems to me, if you didn’t care, couldn’t feel … then you wouldn’t care what was fair,” he pointed out.

Buffy sighed and dropped her head back against his chest, curling into his comfort. “I’m so lost. I’m not here, I’m not there … I’m not anywhere. God, I think I just turned into Dr. Seuss, too.”

Spike snorted softly at this last, but tightened his hold on her comfortingly. “Let me help you find your way back, pet. You felt it tonight, yeah? Closer to heaven? On the motorbike … you laughed. Don’t you remember?” he reminded her, tucking her head beneath his chin protectively, hugging her against him, willing her to believe him.

“What if I can’t? What if … this is all there ever is?” she wondered mournfully. “Would you kill me … if I asked you? Would the chip fire if I was willing? One good day …”

“Buffy,” Spike breathed, his flayed heart liquefying, melting beneath the weight of her words.

“Do you love me enough to let me go?” she asked, knowing she was asking too much, but asking anyway. She lifted her head again, slipping it from beneath his chin, and looked up at him in the flickering light of the fire.  “The others didn’t … Willow and Xander … they couldn’t let me go. How much do you love me, Spike?”

Tears glittered like salty diamonds as they slipped down his cheeks, his head shaking in negation, trying to unhear her words. She was finally admitting that he _could_ love her? That he _did_ love her? While at the same time expecting him to love her enough to let her go. _Again_? The miracles, it seemed, had just had their markers called in.

“Not that strong, Buffy,” he rasped.

“You’re the only one strong enough, Spike,” she insisted, her own shimmering eyes boring into his, imploring. “You once said that I didn’t strike you as one to beg … I’m begging you.”

Spike shook his head more firmly, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His accent softened, slipping from North London to Giles-like. “Already told you, I’m your willing slave, but please, my love, don’t ask me to do that.” He sniffed then, squaring his shoulders, a thought coming to him, the hooligan re-emerging. “Anyway, promised t’ protect Dawn. She needs you. Can’t off you without breakin’ my word.”

“She doesn’t need me. Not like this, even you said so,” Buffy reminded him.

“Then let me help you find your way back. It’s inside you, Buffy. I bloody well saw it tonight. You can’t deny it. There was a spark. It just needs … tending … to grow … to flourish.”

Buffy drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, leaning back against his firm chest. All the words from the strange waitress rattled through her mind. ‘ _Spike can help you, Buffy. But only if you’ll let him_. _You can laugh, and love._ _Live_. _Truly live.’_ The freedom she’d felt with Spike earlier, the laughter, the glittering stars. It seemed far away again, but it had been there. She knew it had.

After a relative eternity to Spike’s shattered heart she finally said, “Okay.”

Spike’s eyes fell closed in relief, his whole body suddenly turning to jelly with the release of the tension.

“But if it doesn’t work, if it gets too bad,” Buffy added. “I want your word, your promise, that you’ll kill me, let me go, send me back.”

A sob wracked Spike’s body, shuddering through him, but he nodded. “But ya gotta give it time, Buffy.”

She nodded against him, sniffing, her tears soaking into his t-shirt. “I promise to give it time.”

“Three years,” Spike suggested.

“One,” she countered.

“Two,” Spike offered.

“One,” she insisted again.

“You don’t seem to understand the concept of negotiation, Slayer,” he told her, exasperated.

“Does that mean I win?” she asked, pulling back again to look at him. The saddest smile Spike had ever seen curved her pink lips and his heart shattered once again.

He returned that forlorn smile and nodded once before kissing her softly. He couldn’t bear that smile. It reflected his own heartbreak much too clearly. Who said vampires didn’t have reflections?

“I love you, Buffy,” he whispered against her lips.

Buffy shook her head, opening her mouth to protest, but he stopped her with another kiss. He pulled back and captured her eyes with a fierce, determined gaze. “You agreed t’ let me help. Means I get to say that, get to steal you off in the night, buy you pie and take you closer to heaven, too.”

Another smile formed on her mouth, this one sardonic. “Why am I already regretting this deal?”

“Pie,” he reminded her. “Ala mode.”

 _Carpe Pie._ She snorted and leaned back against him. “Deal,” she agreed. “Could you just … hold me?” she asked then. “I’m just so tired.”

“Hold you ‘til the end of the world, luv,” he assured her as he laid back on the couch, pulling her with him. Buffy retrieved the quilt from the back of the couch and together they spread it out, her snuggling down atop him and beneath the well-worn cotton.

“Gonna save you this time, Buffy. I bloody swear it,” he whispered against the top of her head, nuzzling his face into her silken tresses.

Her body was warm now, supple and soft against him. He breathed her in – the floral perfume of her various soaps and shampoos mixing with the salty tears, the spicy piquant of her earlier desire, and the underlying essence of her power. It was Buffy. She hadn’t ‘come back wrong’, she just needed time to adjust, to find the spark, find the love he knew was inside her. And he could help her; keep taking her as close as he could to heaven while keeping her with him – and with Dawn – here on Earth. And maybe, one day … one day she’d tell him. And then he would never have to keep that other promise.

Buffy sighed and let her eyes fall closed as he wrapped his strong arms around her, holding her in a tender embrace. It felt so good to be held. To be close to someone. It made her feel … real. Connected to something. She’d felt so untethered, floating through the days, the hours, the minutes, trying to keep herself from drifting away into the ether. She didn’t even realize how much she needed this. To be touched. To be held.

She also felt relieved because she knew Spike was right, he would save her. Either way, she reasoned, she would be saved. And he would keep his word. He was the only one strong enough. Until then, he would hold her … he’d just said so.

Her mind drifted back to the motorcycle trip, how he’d felt against her. How safe she’d felt holding onto him, despite the speed, the cold, the slick roads, the danger. Was that where that feeling of freedom had come from? With that touch? With that trust?

She relaxed against him, fully, completely. He had hold of her. She could let go now without fear of simply floating away, becoming lost, not of this world or the next – a lost soul with no home, trapped in limbo. Spike was strong enough to anchor her. He’d keep her from getting lost in the dark.

Hadn’t Hope told her that?

Hope. Whoever she was, whatever she was, she had given Buffy this: Hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! More to come.
> 
> Thanks to Holi117 for sharing her time and talent with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> Thanks to pfeifferpack for the lovely, inspiring banner! 
> 
> Buffy's quote: 'Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn,' is typically accredited to CS Lewis, but there doesn't seem to be any proof of exactly where/when it was said or written.


	3. Closer to Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy and Spike take each other closer to heaven.   
> This is the NC-17 part of the program. NSFW. It’s also quite long because I couldn’t find any good place to break it up.

* * *

 

Buffy jumped at the sound of heavy, fast footfalls on the porch and the door bursting open.

“I just need to get my math homework. Be right down,” Dawn called back over her shoulder as she rushed through the front door.

“No dawdling. Dawdling causes tardiness. Tardiness, I’ve been led to believe, is a mortal sin in the eyes of the school gods. In Sunnydale, you don’t want to tempt fate and see if they take that literally,” Xander called after her, stopping in the foyer.

Buffy lifted up off Spike’s chest, clutching the warm blanket against the cool air streaming in the open door. She blinked owlishly, trying to clear the fog from her brain and remember where she was. She rubbed her eyes, which were caked with dried tears, and turned to look over her shoulder, toward the sound.

“Buffster! You’re back! Everything go okay with the formerly dangerous, now only annoying, evil undead?” Xander asked brightly as he stepped into the living room.

“Umm…” she began, just as Spike raised up, his smirking face coming into Xander’s view behind the Slayer.

“Was an absolutely brilliant night,” Spike answered for her, his voice dripping with lascivious inuendo.

Xander stopped dead, his face shifting almost comically between surprised shock and utter disgust, as his mind leapfrogged to conclusions that made his stomach turn. “I – you – he— What…” he stammered, waving a hand at the pair on the couch.

Buffy looked from Xander to Spike and back again, the bottom of her stomach falling away in a ‘whoosh’ of panic. Spike’s strong hand closed around her arm, steadying her as if she had tripped, keeping her from falling into that panic.

“Yeah, I … we … handled the problem,” she stuttered, trying to remember how to breathe.

Xander’s brows shot up. “Clearly you’ve _handled_ a lot more than ‘the problem.’ Looks like you’re handling another mass-murdering demon as we speak,” he chastised angrily.

Spike snorted. “Oh, like your demon squeeze hasn’t killed or maimed ten times as many—"

“Not. The. Point,” Xander argued, interrupting him.

“I think it bloody well is the point,” Spike shot back, pressing Buffy down toward the other end of the couch as he pulled his body out from under her.    

“Leave Anya out of this,” Xander insisted, taking a step forward as Spike got to his feet.

“Right, then. It’s alright for you to ‘handle’ whoever you please. Seem to recall hearing that the only women you’ve _ever_ handled were soulless demons … that ring any bells in your lack-brain?”

“Technically, Faith and Cordy both have souls,” Buffy interjected, as she tried to untangle from the quilt while the two men closed in on each other.

Xander didn’t respond to Buffy or seem to register that Spike was still fully clothed as he took another step forward. “Anya is not soulless!”

Spike barked out a laugh. “Isn’t she? So, yer telling me she’s a mass-murderer _with_ a soul? Do ya reckon that’s somethin’ to brag about, then?” he asked, one brow arched, his hands going to his hips.

“I … no! She…! It’s … she …” Xander stammered, clearly flustered. “Why don’t you just butt-out and keep your filthy hands off Buffy! She needs friends now, not some lovelorn, horny creature-of-the-night taking advantage!”

Buffy finally got herself disentangled from the cover and stood up, interspersing herself between the two men. She held her hands out and pressed them on Xander’s chest, facing the brunette, stopping his advance toward Spike. “It wasn’t like that. He … helped me,” she explained.

“Buffy! It’s _Spike_!” Xander reminded her, spitting the name as if it was bitter poison on his tongue. “He doesn’t do anything unless there’s something in it for him. And we all know what he wants – Slayer nookie.”

Buffy felt her face flush with anger and embarrassment all at once. If anything, she’d been the one after nookie, Spike had only followed her lead. He’d not pushed her or pressured her or done anything but what she’d asked the entire time.

Before Buffy could reply, however, Dawn came down the stairs. “If that’s true, then why did he stay after she died? Why did he patrol with you guys? Why did he watch out for me? Help me with my homework? Watch hours and hours of chick flicks? Paint my nails? Make sure I was eating and going to school, make sure I didn’t run away, make sure I didn’t kill myself!?”

“Kill yoursel— what …?” Xander gasped in shock, but Dawn just keep talking over him.

“What the hell do you think he got out of that, Xander Harris!?” the girl demanded, reaching the bottom of the stairs. “While you were all planning and scheming behind our backs to bring Buffy back, Spike was actually here! Actually talking to me! Actually saving me! Actually…” Dawn’s voice broke as she got to Spike’s side, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tugging her against him, beneath his protective wing.

 “’S alright, Nibblet. Can’t expect him t’ understand,” Spike assured her as the three of them now stood together facing Xander, a united front.

“Xan, I …” Buffy began. _You let your friends drive you apart?_  Of course. More advice from the mysterious waitress in the closed diner. The one who clearly knew much too much about Buffy for any of it to be random.

Buffy took a deep breath and steeled herself before continuing. “Thank you for letting Dawn stay over, but maybe you should go now. I’ll get her to school.”

Xander stood there, looking from one to the other of them, shaking his head in dismay. “I really don’t get you, Buff. You could have …” He waved his hands out, as if encompassing the entire world. “…anyone, but you choose _this_?” His hard gaze landed on Spike, his head still shaking.

Buffy swallowed and straightened her back, noting that Xander didn’t use a pronoun to describe Spike. Demons didn’t rate pronouns, did they? They weren’t people. Except for Anya, she supposed. “I know you don’t understand. I didn’t understand your attraction to Anya at first … or Cordelia _ever_. We don’t have to understand each other’s choices, Xander, we just have to respect them.”

Xander snorted, his glower shifting from Spike to Buffy and then back to Spike. “I’ll respect _him_ when hell freezes over.”

“Then respect _me_. I think you owe me at least that, don’t you?” Buffy insisted, brushing past him and going over to the still-open door, holding it for him. “You better get to work. You’ll be late.”

Xander shot Spike another death glare, still shaking his head, but turned and walked toward the door. “Please think about what you’re doing, Buffy. He may be leashed, but he’s still a monster,” he said as he passed her.

Buffy laughed mirthlessly. “Aren’t we all?”

Buffy sighed as she swung the door closed as soon as Xander was through it. When she turned around, Dawn was right there, pulling Buffy into a hug. “Do you mean it? Are you and Spike … together?” the girl asked hopefully.

Buffy looked at Spike past Dawn’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around her tall little sister. “We’re … ummm … it’s complicated,” Buffy replied. “But …” The Slayer sighed. “I honestly don’t know, Dawnie. He’s … we’re …”

“He loves you, Buffy,” Dawn insisted, pulling back to look at her. Her expression was so hopeful, so pleading, it gave Buffy pause.

Hot tears welled in Buffy’s eyes and she nodded. “I know,” she whispered. “We’re gonna …”

“Have pie,” Spike filled in, walking over to where the two Summers girls were by the door.

“Pie?” Dawn questioned, turning so she could see them both. “Is that code for ‘sex’? I’m not five, ya know!”

“No!” Buffy insisted, perhaps a little too vehemently. “It’s code for pie, ala mode … cherry, apple, maybe blueberry.”

Dawn’s face scrunched up even more. “Ooo-kay,” she drawled. “Where will you be having this ice cream covered pie? Cos if it’s in the bed…”

“On dates,” Buffy clarified quickly. “We’re … dating.”

Dawn’s face cleared, and she beamed at Buffy. “Dating is good. I can support pie with dating.”

“You’ll probably be the only one,” Buffy pointed out with a sigh as she lifted Spike’s duster off the rack. “Can I borrow this again?” she asked him.

Spike was still reeling from Buffy’s pronouncement that they were dating. Did one date constitute ‘dating’? No, there would need to be more, surely. At least two. More dates … more Buffy … more Buffy kisses. Bloody hell! How many soddin’ miracles did he owe the PTB now? How much interest did they charge?

“Spike?” Buffy interrupted his racing thoughts, holding the duster up.

His brow furrowed, trying to focus. He shrugged.  “Sure, pet.”

“Get your stuff, Dawn. You’re gonna be late,” Buffy said, slipping the duster on over her PJs.

“You are not taking me to school in fluffy sheep pajamas and furry pink slippers!” Dawn insisted. “If anyone sees you, I’ll die!”

Buffy gave her a saccharine smile. “Then my transformation to a mother will be complete. Let’s go.” Buffy grabbed her purse and keys and opened the door, ushering her whining sister out. She stopped and looked back at Spike. “Will you stay? I won’t be long.”

Spike gave her a smile and a nod. “Reckon you’ll have to kick me out to get rid of me,” he assured her. “Anyway, sun’s up. Stuck here, aren’t I?”

Buffy snorted and rolled her eyes. “As if that ever stopped you,” she muttered as she followed Dawn out to the Jeep.

   **** X-X-X-X-X ****

Spike paced the floor in bare feet while Buffy was gone. Sometime during the couple of hours on the couch he’d kicked his boots off and hadn’t bothered putting them back on. This wasn’t the first time he’d paced this house. He knew it by heart. How many steps were in each room, how many on the carpet, on the tile, on the wood. Where the floor creaked, where the crack was in the tile in front of the sink. Where they’d covered up the grape juice stain on the carpet with the footstool. Of course, then it had been Dawn he’d been worried about. He’d spent hours pacing the floor as she slept above, listening for her to call out in her sleep, for her sobs after she woke from the nightmare, so he could go to her, comfort her.

Now it was different.

The phone hadn’t stopped ringing nearly the whole time Buffy’d been gone. He didn’t answer it. He let it go to the machine. Apparently, the whelp had spread the word about him being here with Buffy this morning. Willow, Giles, even Anya and Tara had called and left messages, sometimes more than once, each one more urgent, insisting Buffy call back before she did anything she’d regret. The only one who hadn’t called yet was Angel. He was expecting that at any moment, though.

Spike sighed. Her friends were gonna bugger this up. Why couldn’t they keep their big, fat, ugly noses out of it? She needed help. Help they weren’t giving her. Help he was sure he could give if she’d just give him a chance, and not let them talk her out of… pie.

He considered ripping the phone out of the wall, erasing the messages, smashing the machine. None of that would really help in the end, though, would it? They’d just come over, descend on the house like a swarm of feral locusts. And this buggering chip kept him from doing sod-all about them! He sighed. It wasn’t like he could hurt them anyway, was it? Buffy wouldn’t want that.

“Balls,” Spike growled, making another loop around the first floor, through the kitchen to the dining room and back to the foyer. Just then, he heard the Jeep pull into the drive. Well, here it was, then. He dropped down onto the couch and waited for her to toss him out, sending him back to the cold solitude of his crypt. His miracles had run out.

“Hey,” Buffy greeted him when she came in, stopping to remove his duster and hang it up by the door.

“Hey, yerself,” Spike replied, trying not to sound too annoyed or distraught. “Manage t’ kill the bit, then?”

Buffy snorted a soft laugh and came into the living room. “No, unfortunately I couldn’t find any good reason to get out of the Jeep, and none of her friends came close enough to see me. I guess that particular rite of passage will have to wait for another day.”

She plopped down onto the sofa next to him, curling her legs up under her as she leaned toward him. Spike wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close, wondering if this would be the last time he’d feel her against him, feel her warmth, her softness.

“How many?” she asked, trying to count the number of blinks on the answering machine.

Spike snorted derisively. “Stopped countin’ at ten,” he admitted.

Just then, the phone began ringing again. Spike closed his eyes, sighing heavily. Here it was then. Who would it be? Giles? Willow? Xander? Angel? His money was on Angel, and then that would be it. Buffy would send him packing. Would Spike forever be in the enormous git’s shadow, watching the women he loved leave him whenever Angel crooked his little finger?

Buffy pulled away, slipping from beneath his arm, and stood up. She walked over to the phone and turned the ringer off, then turned the volume down on the answering machine.

Spike watched her, not sure what to make of that. At his confused look, she shrugged. “This way they can just keep leaving messages and hopefully won’t feel the need to actually show up,” she explained. She detoured back to the front door and locked it before re-joining him on the couch.

“Ya … aren’t gonna answer it?” he asked tentatively.

“Nope,” Buffy assured him as she resumed her original position, tucked up beneath his arm, and rested her head against his shoulder. “Willow and Tara will be okay with it after I talk to them. Willow feels so guilty, she’ll do anything to try and wipe the slate clean. Giles …” Buffy shrugged. “On the plus side you never kidnapped and tortured him, or killed his girlfriend, so… I think he’ll deal. Anya honestly doesn’t care, but she’ll be on Xander’s side, of course. I’ll talk to him some more. I’ve got an ace up my sleeve with him that I’ve never played. It should at least shut him up.”

Spike’s brows rose higher and higher as she spoke. Clearly, she’d been expecting this. She’d already thought it through and had … chosen _him_? “What about Angel?”

Buffy shook her head in confusion, turning her face up to look at Spike. “What about Angel?”

“I … he … won’t be pleased,” Spike stuttered.

“Last time I checked, Angel wasn’t my keeper,” she pointed out.

Spike arched a brow at her and Buffy sighed. “I saw him after… when I got back. It was him being all lecture-y and pissed that I hadn’t called him to help with Glory, and me being all harsh and pissed because I _couldn’t_ call him to help with Glory. And I couldn’t even tell him why I couldn’t tell him. We fought. It wasn’t pretty.

“Angelus is always inside him, just waiting to get out. I couldn’t trust him to know what Dawn is, what her blood can do. I’m not naïve enough to think that I’m the only one who could break the curse.” Buffy sighed again and shook her head. “Angelus tried to send the world into a hell dimension with Acathla. I wasn’t about to hand him another dimension-opening Key in the form of my sister.

“Angel is my past, Spike. Not just for that reason; there have been other things, too. He can be … _displeased_ all he wants, as long as he does it in L.A.”

“You sure, pet?” Spike asked softly, looking down at her, his hungry heart once again surging with hope.

Buffy turned her face so she could look into his eyes as she snuggled against his side. “I have a new motto: Carpe Pie. No one else seems to know the magic of pie, where the pie is or how to bake it just right. You gave me perfect pie … heavenly pie. I should’ve eaten it last night, but from now on, I’m pie-girl.”

Spike pursed his lips to keep from grinning like a love-sick schoolboy. “Don’t forget the ala mode bit,” he reminded her.

Buffy grinned up at him, her hand sliding slowly up the length of his thigh. “Golden crust smeared with thick, creamy goodness? All melty and sweet, hot and cold, hard and soft, mingling into a blur of heaven on Earth? How could I forget that?”

Spike swallowed as blood began to race away from his brain. “Are we still talkin’ about pie?”

Buffy’s smile widened as she lifted up, swung one leg over his and settled onto his lap. “No,” she whispered against his lips, taking his face between her hands. “Kiss me,” she murmured, her breath a warm caress against his lips.

Spike closed the short distance, nipping gently at her flesh, his teeth tugging softly at her bottom lip, his tongue tracing over the bow of her mouth. She returned the teasing gestures, their lips meeting and parting, tongues darting out, tasting the other, teeth nibbling against soft flesh.

Spike’s hands roamed down her body, found the hem of her pajama top, and slid beneath. He was met with warm, soft flesh. Her stomach quivered beneath this touch as he caressed her, working up along the curve of her waist. She moaned as his hands found the round swell of her breasts and his thumbs circled her nipples, bringing them to hard, eager nubbins in an instant.

“Too many clothes,” Buffy murmured against his mouth as she reluctantly pulled back and stood up. With all the blood suddenly settled below his belt, Spike’s eyes were glazed over, but he took the hand she offered him and stood.

He watched as if outside himself as she led him up the stairs. Was this one of his dreams? Dreams where he was alone with Buffy didn’t usually involve so many clothes … especially not flannel PJs covered in fluffy sheep. Usually didn’t have to walk up the stairs, either, just … *poof* and they were in the bed. He licked his lips – they tasted of Buffy and … coffee? That wasn’t normal dream-fodder either.

“Ignore the boy band posters. I really need to redecorate…” she excused as she led him into her room. “I guess I’ve been too busy being dead and broke and all.”

Spike looked around. He’d seen it before. The Bot had stayed in here in those dark days _during_. It all looked different now, though, with Buffy standing here in the midst of it. It was her room. Her posters. Her dresser. Her stuffed pig. Her bed. Her life.

Her life. As in alive. As in not lost. Not dead. Not gone forever. Alive. Here. With him.

His gaze finally landed back on her. She was watching him, biting her bottom lip shyly, her hands fidgeting nervously with the hem of her pajama top.

“Is it … okay?” she asked tentatively.

Spike swallowed and nodded. “Perfect,” he assured her, closing the short distance between them with a single step. “I love you, Buffy,” he breathed, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek gently.

She looked down, breaking eye contact with him, her hands curling into knots in front of her. “I don’t know what to say when you say that. I know … I know what you want to hear, but it’s not … I can’t…”

“Shhh,” he breathed, touching his thumb to her lips to quiet her. “Don’t have to say anything, luv. Just hear it, believe it, let it soak in. One day your heart will know what to say.” _One day she’ll tell you._

She looked back up and their eyes locked. “Will ‘I want you’ work for now? O-Or … maybe ‘I need you’?”

“Is there a difference in those?” he wondered, his gaze softening as he studied her.

“Yeah. ‘Need’ is like … oxygen or water or … coffee,” she explained. “’Want’ is like chocolate o-or some kickin’ boots on clearance at the mall.” She stopped a moment and shook her head slightly. “No, that’s ‘need’ too … Ummm…” A small smile hovered at the corner of her mouth and she shrugged.

A slow smirk curved Spike’s lips, his eyes glittering again with avarice. “I’m happy bein’ needed or wanted, Buffy,” he assured her. _One day she’ll tell you._ Spike knew he was putting a lot of trust in cryptic words from a waitress. Hope. Whoever she was, whatever she was, she had given Spike this. Hope.

“A-re you sure? I-I’m sorry I can’t…” she continued, growing completely serious again.

“Never been more sure of anything,” he breathed. His hands reached for the buttons on the front of her shirt, but Buffy stopped him with a small shake of her head, her hands covering his. She reached down and clasped the hem of the top and pulled it up over her head without undoing any of the buttons, dropping it on the floor at their feet.

Spike’s eyes feasted on her, drinking her in, sliding over gentle curves and soft skin. Buffy felt her body flush in his wake, as if he’d physically touched her with the heat of his gaze. She was very sure no one in the history of Buffy had ever looked at her like that before. Like he’d die of thirst if he couldn’t touch her; like he’d drown if he did.

His hand reached out, tremulous, as if she were made of the most delicate porcelain and would shatter with the least pressure. His fingers skimmed over the thudding artery on the side of her neck, feeling her fiery blood as it surged through her. Life. His demon called out for it. A sip. A taste. A drop.

No. Not invited. Perhaps one day. Not this day.

Spike’s fingers trailed lower, across her collarbone. Smooth skin. Trembling flesh. Beauty beyond his wildest imaginings. His palm cupped one breast. Delicate. Like a flower. Supple and warm beneath his touch. Gooseflesh rose, racing over her skin, a shiver of anticipation tingling down her spine, settling deep in her belly.

Spike bent and captured the bud with his full lips, encircling the rosy peak with his tongue. Damp. Cool. Molten fire. Buffy moaned, her back arching slightly, pressing against his mouth, his lips, encouraging more exploration. Her hands found their way to his shoulders as he continued to worship her flesh with tender touches, silken kisses, utter adoration.

Buffy had never felt anything so completely amorous, so loving, and yet so intense. How someone so strong, so inherently violent and zealous could touch her with such exquisite delicacy she had no idea.

“So beautiful you are, Buffy,” he breathed against her damp nipple, and another surge of desire blazed across her skin, like ethereal wisps of ecstasy engulfing her in their embrace.

She cleared her throat, shifting slightly. “Your turn,” she whispered, reaching out for the buttons of his overshirt. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unbuttoned it, moving slowly down from his chest over his flat abdomen. When the shirt hung free, she slid her hands back up his cotton-clad torso, beneath the shirt and then down his arms, letting it flutter silently to the floor.

Spike’s own body thrummed with the tension, the visceral need building like a volcano within him, as he watched her. If he’d had a heartbeat, it would’ve been exploding through his chest right then. He could imagine how it would feel pounding against his ribs like a bass drum – she made him feel alive again.

When the overshirt fell away, he reached up and tugged on the collar of his t-shirt, lifting it off over his head to reveal the hard muscles and rigid lines of a marble statue come to life. Buffy’s hands reached out, needing to touch the smooth flesh as he’d done hers. Her fingers danced over the hills and valleys of muscle, the six-pack abs, the bulge of pectoral, the hard line of his collar bone, the round ball of deltoid.  His skin was so perfect, so smooth and soft, but the muscles beneath were solid, like Michelangelo’s masterpiece which he’d clearly been created from.

Spike’s arms moved beneath her palms, the biceps tightening and relaxing as he unfastened his belt, letting it fall open, dangling from the loops of his jeans. Buffy’s bottom lip was once again captured by her teeth as she focused her attention lower. Her hands took over from his, finding the button of his jeans and undoing it deftly, before going to the straining zipper.

Buffy ran her hand down the length of the bulge, atop the dark denim, drawing a low moan from Spike. If his body was made of marble, then his cock had to be made from titanium. She felt the flames of her own desire building, growing hotter and higher by the moment. How would he feel inside her? Thrusting. Driving into her. She wouldn’t have to hold back with him; could lose herself in the feeling. God, she wanted to know how that would feel. To just let go. She wanted to feel him moving against her. Stretching her to his girth, filling her with his length.

“Ummm …” Buffy began, swallowing nervously. “I don’t want to … errr … catch anything vital in the teeth,” she explained. “I’m guessing there are no boxers between that zipper and … vitalness.”

Spike smirked and made an adjustment through the denim before sliding the zipper down with practiced ease. “Can catch any part of me with your teeth, pet. Won’t hear me complain.”

Buffy tried to think of something witty to respond, but her full and undivided attention was drawn to his cock, now released from the straining denim. Her hand wrapped around his shaft, just beneath the bulbous head, and Spike moaned again, his eyelids fluttering closed.

Her hand was so warm. So strong. Wrapped around him like a dream come true. But his dreams hadn’t done her touch justice. His hips quivered, wanting to thrust against her, as she drew her hand down his generous length, and then back up in a mercilessly slow stroke.

“Buffy … bloody hell,” he breathed, his voice dripping with desire.

“You’re … wow … I mean … wow,” Buffy stammered, her eyes finally flicking back up to his when she felt his gaze upon her.

A smirk stretched the sinfully sensuous curve of his mouth, his blue eyes glittering with smugness.

“Don’t get cocky,” she chastised sternly, but a smile played on her lips.

Spike arched a brow. “Too late for that, pet,” he replied, curling his tongue against his teeth salaciously.

Buffy laughed nervously. “I guess that’s true,” she agreed, releasing his cock and sliding her hands down his slim hips, taking the denim down with them.

Spike stepped out of the last of his clothes, leaving the jeans in a rumpled heap on the floor. “Your turn,” he said, mimicking her words as his hands settled on her hips and slid beneath the soft fabric of her pajamas. He felt the lace of panties beneath, and made sure to snag them, as well, on his way down, his hands gliding over the flare of her hips and down her smooth, shapely legs.

The aroma of her desire hit him like a freight train as he knelt before her, the fluffy sheep flannel joining his jeans on the carpet. She stepped out of them, sending that intoxicating scent fluttering through the cool air, spinning Spike’s head with the power of it.

“Need to taste you,” he whispered, kneeling in front of her, nuzzling against the small triangle of neat, dark curls at her center. His tongue darted out, dipping into the chalice of her passion, tasting the essence of her desire. Heaven. His heaven. Could he bring her with him? Closer to heaven right here, right now? He could try.

“Need or want?” Buffy breathed back as shivers of anticipation trembled through her, her hands gripping his strong shoulders to steady herself.

“Both,” Spike murmured against her hot skin, as he touched kisses over her mound, then along her hip, moving slowly up, over the flat of her stomach, the round curve of one breast. His hands followed the line of fire fueled by his kisses, soft touches that left tingling sparks in their wake all along her body.

Buffy was pretty sure her heart would explode out of her chest at any moment, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps, her pulse thudding in her ears as her blood began to boil. There suddenly seemed to be a decided lack of oxygen in the room. Was Spike breathing? He needed to stop with the unneeded breathing and leave some air for her.

When he’d stood all the way back up and his lips found hers again, he swept her up into his arms, strong and sure. The kiss broke only when he set her down on the soft bed, determined to devour her, to fill that need within him, to find his heaven, but even more determined to lift her back to hers.

Buffy slid back on the bed, her gaze never leaving the vampire who was drinking her in with his eyes. He moved like a big cat, a predator, graceful and deadly, but the adoration in his gaze made her shiver with desire, not fear.

“So beautiful, Buffy,” he breathed as he slipped between her luscious thighs, draping her legs over his shoulders. “Gonna taste you now, luv.”

Buffy lifted up onto her elbows, watching his tongue dart out and slip between her damp folds. When the firm tip of his tongue touched down on her clit, she jerked against him and her eyelids fluttered closed.

“God, yes … Spike, so good,” she murmured, getting lost in the feelings he stirred in her, in the swirl of tingling butterflies that peppered her insides. “More … like that, yes … God … yes.”

“Like this?” he asked, changing to softer licks and sucks against her clit.

“Oh … yes …”

“Or this?” he wondered, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with his tongue, teasing her, barely touching.

“Yes … Spike … like that…” she cried.

“Or this …” he continued, sucking her clit between his lips and worrying it gently with his teeth.

“Jesus! Yessssssssssssssssss!” was the enthusiastic response as her hips jerked against his mouth, her body on the verge of complete and utter detonation.

“Tell me if there’s anything you _don’t_ fancy,” he teased, grinning against her as he continued tasting, sucking and licking, sending tremors of pleasure shooting out like lightning bolts down her legs. Buffy’s muscles twitched and jerked out of her control as he made love to her with his tongue, his lips, his teeth, then his fingers.

Buffy’s juices flowed like slick, warm nirvana onto Spike’s tongue, coating him with the very essence of her. Her passion. Her strength. Her desires. Her wants and needs. He drank her down, never having tasted anything so powerful, so perfect, so close to heaven before. Slayer. Woman. Ally. And now lover. She was everything he’d dreamed of and more. Vocal. Passionate. Eager. Fervid.   

Her body responded to his every touch, every murmur of adoration. Teasing her drew demands for more. His most zealous attentions had his name pouring from her lips like liquid fire. She was magnificent. Her passion only fueled the flames of his love, overwhelming him with just how much his own heart could expand to contain it.

Buffy began to float in the pleasure he was pouring over her, her eyes blinking open to watch him devour her, his face covered in her juices, lapping at her hot skin, ravenous, starving. And then another too-intense flood of pleasure would wash over her as he discovered another spot that sent her reeling, and her eyes would have to close again as she drifted away beneath his ministrations.

Spike’s tongue knew no mercy, and she asked for none. No one had ever given her so much pleasure for so long, leaving his own needs unmet. He lavished her with bliss, touching places that no other lover had ever dared, teaching her things about her body that she’d never known. She stiffened when he began toying with her ass, teasing her with his tongue.

“Don’t like it, pet?” he asked before flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin again, licking a line of cool heat from her taint to her puckered hole and back again.

“I … I … ummm … you don’t … have to …” she stammered uncomfortably even as beads of white-hot pleasure fired through her veins, growing by the second.

“Wasn’t the question, was it?” he prodded. “Just feel … don’t think,” he suggested as he added a finger to the attentions he was giving her. “How does it feel?”

Buffy swallowed, nervous but intrigued, watching him. “I … ummm… a little scary?”

He looked up her body and met her eyes. “Trust me?”

_Trust him, he won’t let you down… but you need to drop your walls, take the first step and let him in_.

Buffy bit her bottom lip, not sure this was exactly what the waitress had meant, but then nodded once realizing that, yes, she did trust him.

Spike’s gaze softened at her nod, his dead heart seeming to come alive just a bit more inside his chest. He dipped his mouth down, lowering his gaze, as his tongue began teasing her taint again.

“Tell me how it feels,” he urged again as his slick finger slid gently inside her puckered hole, not far, just enough to draw a breathless gasp from her lips. He began turning it this way then that within the tight ring of muscles, igniting fires that Buffy had never realized existed before.

“Jesus … Spike …” Her words devolved into an incoherent stream of strangled moans, but her body answered for her. She began to quake and shudder with the forbidden, decadent pleasure of it. She felt like she was flying apart and then slamming back together, shattering and reforming over and over, burning in the lambent flames of bliss.

Spike growled against her clit – deep and rumbling – sending vibrations of complete and utter ecstasy washing over her like ripples in a pond. Wave after wave rolled through her, over her, lifting her higher and higher upon their powerful wings. Her spirit reached up toward the dancing stars above, so close now at the peak of the wave, her fingers grazing through the sparkling guardians of heaven.

In that moment there was nothing else. Nothing but this. Nothing but feeling. Nothing but pleasure. Nothing but heaven. And then she was plummeting, falling from the crest of the wave, an astral freefall through the tapestry of time and space, through warm sunshine and sultry nights, through silken kisses and whispered vows. Falling back into the arms of the man, yes, _man_ , who loved her. Who would do anything for her. Who took her closer to heaven.

Buffy came back to herself gasping for breath with the power of her orgasm, her skin damp, shining in the soft daylight drifting in her window. She looked down to find Spike looking up at her, his lips glistening with her juices, his eyes bluer than she’d ever seen them. She felt like she could fall into those eyes, drown in the sea of adoration that swam in them. In that moment she wanted more than anything to be able to return that look, to give him the love he so freely gave to her.

Her eyes welled with tears …knowing he may never see that look reflecting back at him. She came back wrong; it just wasn’t inside her anymore. It may never be inside her. After all he’d done for her, for Dawn, even for her friends, now that she actually wanted to, she just wasn’t capable of giving him even that crumb.

But she _did_ _want_ to. She at least wanted to be able to choose. She felt trapped in the dark, unable to truly feel, but there had been sparks. Moments where she could touch those feelings again in the glowing stars. Spike had given her those moments, had given her some hope that she could find her way back – and he’d promised to help her. Or kill her. How deep must his love be?

“Shhhh… Buffy, pet …” he cooed, sliding up her body and taking her in his arms. “Didn’t mean … bloody hell, never got that reaction before.”

Buffy let out a half-laugh, half-sob and wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her. Her anchor. He was the only one strong enough. “It’s not you, it’s me,” she rasped.

Spike snorted and pulled back to look at her. “Know that, don’t I? Cos I’m bloody incredible,” he teased before kissing the salty dampness from her lashes. “Sorry, luv … I…” he began, but honestly didn’t know what he was supposed to apologize for; he didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

“Shhh,” Buffy stopped him, touching her lips to his, a chaste, delicate kiss. She tasted herself on his skin, his mouth covered with her warm, salty cum, and deepened the kiss. She thrust her tongue between his lips, tasting herself there mingled with the complex flavors of Spike. The familiar tobacco. The tingle of whiskey. The coppery tang of blood. The burn of something spicy. The hint of something sweet. How could there be so many nuances there? The answer was obvious, it was Spike, after all.

Spike. The vampire who was loyal to a fault. Who would not give up no matter what. Who drove her demons away, at least for a while. Who took her closer to heaven than she dared hope. The vampire, the _man_ , who loved her.

_You can laugh, and love. Live. Truly live. Spike loves you. Trust him, he won’t let you down… but you need to drop your walls, take the first step and let him in._

Well, even if her heart was still locked in the dark, unable to open for him, her body was more than ready and willing. “Make love to me, Spike.”

Spike pulled back from the kiss, his eyes so filled with love that Buffy thought she could feel it spark a tiny light in the pit of her own battered and scorched soul. How could he convey so much without words, with just a look? How could a look be so tangible, be something that you wanted to wrap up in, drown in, and never come out of?

“I want you,” she whispered. It was what she had to give him. She hoped it was enough.

“I want you,” he replied, his voice a rich rumble of desire. Spike lifted up onto his hands, shifting his hips between her thighs. Buffy wrapped her legs around him, reaching between them to guide his hardness into her.

Their eyes locked and held, neither one daring even to blink in that moment. Everything in the world seemed to stop. There was no sound beyond their ragged breathing. There was no scent but that of their desire. There was nothing else in the world but them. This moment. This feeling. This surrender to each other.

Spike pressed forward, his hardness slowly spreading her tight corona of sensitive flesh open as he slipped the head of his cock inside her. He stopped there, barely within her pulsing walls, and took in a very much needed breath. Paradise. Nirvana. Seventh Heaven. How many names were there for this feeling? There was only one that came to his mind, however, “Buffy…”

“Spike,” she rasped back. As he slid slowly deeper, filling her, those butterflies inside her turned to lightning bugs and showered her with hot, brilliant sparks of pleasure and ever-building desire. There was only one first time with someone. She hadn’t had many of those in her short life, but none had been like this. So very loving. So tender. So full of devotion. It literally took her breath away, the ability to breathe somehow forgotten for several moments as she let herself get lost in his eyes, in the feeling of their connection, in the love he was pouring over her.

When his hips met hers, his cock buried within her hot, supple channel to the hilt, Spike lowered down onto his elbows above her and kissed her deeply. Buffy’s hands slid up and down his sides, hips to shoulders, fluttering over hills and valleys of muscle, touching him as tenderly as he had her. Her body tingled from head to toe with little sparks of electricity, quivering her muscles and dancing across her skin.

She wanted him to move against her, to thrust and grind, she wanted to feel the length and girth of him filling her over and over, but at the same time she didn’t want him to ever move again.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered against her lips before trailing kisses along her jaw to her ear. He kissed and suckled at her neck, and made her squirm with need. Her pussy pulsed and throbbed around his cock with every touch of cool lips to hot skin, and all she could do was moan with the pleasure of it.

What did she want? This. That. The other thing. Everything all at once.

“You,” she finally gasped.

“You got me, pet,” he assured her. “Actually not sure I could get away if I wanted to. Which, luckily, I don’t.” He demonstrated by trying to pull his hips back, but her legs were wrapped around him tight enough to prevent him from moving.

“Oops! Sorry,” she squeaked, an embarrassed flush adding even more heat to her face as she loosened her hold on him.

Spike grinned down at her. “Don’t be. Nowhere else in the world I’d rather be held prisoner,” he admitted.

She bit her bottom lip adorably. “I guess I’m out of practice.”

“No worries, luv. We can reacquaint ourselves with the art of making love together, eh?”

“I’ve been dead. What’s your excuse?” she wondered, her tone teasing.

Spike’s expression sobered. “The only woman I want was dead.”

“Spike …” she sighed, cupping his face gently with her hands. She hadn’t meant to ruin anything. Hadn’t meant to take that smile from his lips, or that light from his eyes. “I’m here now. Remind me how this dance goes.”

She pulled his face down and kissed him again, and his hips began to move against her, a gentle, swaying slow-dance to a dreamy tempo. Her body responded in kind, her hips tilting and lifting to meet his, pulling back, pressing forward with him, meeting in the middle. Breathy sighs and soft moans mingled with whispered adorations as they glided together and apart, taking and giving in equal measure.

“Love you, Buffy. So bloody much. You’ve no idea … feel so good, pet. Bloody hell… so perfect, so warm and soft and … Jesus, Buffy … never dreamed … not like this.”

“Never anyone like you, Spike. Don’t know how … how … so tender … so strong. Come with me … heaven, Spike. Touch the stars … with me.”

Buffy felt like a feather and Spike was the air lifting her higher and higher on a gentle breeze. Up into the sky, as blue as his eyes. Up into the clouds, as soft as his touch. Floating. Weightless. Drifting. Carefree. Warm breezes and sunshine.

They swayed, their bodies rocking together, pulling apart. A slow waltz sprinkled with kisses and soft touches. They made love. Delicately. Seductively. Two becoming one. A symphony of passion, an elegant ballet.  There was no rush to their movements as they reveled in each other, drowning in the other’s eyes and getting drunk on kisses.

Buffy pressed on his shoulder, shifting her hips to the side, and they rolled together until she settled atop him. Buffy’s hands roamed over his exquisite musculature, getting lost in how his chest heaved with unneeded breath as he watched her, his eyes unable to look away from the angel atop him.  Her hips rolled to the beat of the same gentle dance, sliding over his glistening cock, her juices hot and slick as they slipped down, coating his groin, his balls, soaking into the sheets beneath.  

Spike’s hands settled on her hips a moment but then began to move, his fingers dancing up, tracing the inward curve of her waist, then the swell of her breasts. His hands cupped the swaying flesh, hot and heavy in his palms, teasing her nipples with gentle strokes of his thumbs. Each time he grazed her sensitive flesh he could feel her channel tighten around his cock, as if the two distant parts of her were directly connected to one another. If he’d asked Buffy, she would’ve told him they were.

She leaned forward into his touch, changing the angle of their bodies, and gasped softly as his cock hit new and interesting places inside her, her eyes fluttering closed in pleasure.

“So bloody beautiful,” Spike murmured, teasing her nipples, sending tingling flashes of fire spreading over her skin, coursing through her blood. “Could watch you like this for hours … days. Buffy … never knew how beautiful you were until now.”

Her eyes blinked open, looking down at him. It was almost like she’d never seen him before this moment. His eyes – yes, she knew them, but had they always been this intense? Like pools of sapphire that beckoned her to drown in their depths? His mouth, usually smirking and smug, was so soft now, his lips so full, begging to be kissed. His stark cheekbones highlighted by that solid jaw. A jaw that could, and had, stood many a punch from Slayers and demons alike, but that now simply needed to have kisses showered over it.

Buffy leaned down further, her hands pressing against his hard chest. Her silken hair fell like a veil around their faces as she began touching warm, soft kisses to his skin, beginning with his scarred brow. She continued to rain kisses over his face, each one a drop of molten lava against his cool skin. From the scar on his brow, down one sharp cheekbone, to the tip of his nose, his full lips, his strong chin, along his jaw to his ear. Spike moaned and squirmed beneath her as she found a spot behind his ear that sent jagged bolts of pleasure racing through his blood, which had mostly settled in the pit of his stomach and lower.

Buffy smiled at the reaction, making mental notes of all the places that made him moan or curse or buck his hips. His cock slipped from her tight channel as she slid further down his body with her kisses. They both sighed, missing the connection immediately, but both enjoying her exploration of his body too much to stop.  Buffy’s soft tresses trailed along his skin like liquid sunshine, across his neck, his collarbone, as she peppered him with kisses. Her tongue darted out to tease one small, round nipple. Were they as sensitive as hers?

“Bloody fuck…”

Apparently so.

Buffy stayed there for a while as Spike’s hands began moving over her hot skin again, up her back, over her hips, across her abdomen. His cock swelled between them as she kissed heat over his hard chest, teasing and nibbling softly at his nipples, her hair flowing over his skin, golden strands of silk.  His groans and curses and sighs of her name filled the air, combining with her own moans of pleasure, weaving together in a tapestry of pleasure floating all around them. Buffy slid down his body, exploring every inch of soft, smooth alabaster, kissing and licking her way over his perfect abs, giving each bulge and dip of muscle its due. Her tongue slipped into his belly button and Spike jerked, his stomach quivering, trying to pull away from her.

“Ticklish, are we?” Buffy teased, exploring that tidbit just a little more as he wriggled beneath her.

“Don’t be daft,” he insisted, though his body belied his words by trying to hide his bellybutton behind his spine. “Vampires aren’t bloody ticklish!”

“You are,” she laughed, trailing her hair over the sensitive spot as his curses become more adamant and less sultry.

God it felt good to laugh. It caught her completely off guard. She looked up and met his eyes. Buffy expected to see annoyance for teasing him, but instead she saw awe in their blue depths and crinkles at the corners from the smile curving his sumptuous mouth.

“Even more beautiful when you laugh, luv,” he whispered, reaching a hand out to cup her cheek. “So bloody beautiful.”

She laid her hand over his and leaned into his touch. “Does that mean I get to keep tickling you?” she taunted, a sinister grin curving her mouth.

Spike’s smile turned feral and he trailed his hand down from her cheek to cup her breast. “If that’s how ya want to while away the hours, then I’ll not stop ya. I’m your willin’ slave. But I reckon you could find some more pleasurable uses for this hot, tight little body.”

Buffy bit her bottom lip and let her eyes wander down from his face, over his chest and abs again. “You could be right,” she breathed, wrapping her hand around his shaft. “This bit seems like it could be incredibly useful, though I’m not sure I’d use the term ‘little’ to describe it.”

Spike’s smug grin returned, his tongue curling against his teeth. “At your service, pet,” he offered, his eyes slipping closed as she began to stroke his length, still glistening with her juices and warm from being inside her heated depths.

“Mmmm …” she hummed, slipping down between his legs. “I think this needs further investigation.”

Buffy settled between his legs and set to exploring with her hands, her lips, her tongue. She trailed her tongue up from the base of his shaft to the head, leaving a hot, wet line of saliva in her wake. She tasted herself on his flesh and it sent a shiver of licentious excitement racing through her. She traced her tongue back down his hard column, savoring the flavor, remembering how it felt to have him inside her. How he filled her, touching every yearning part of her womanhood. She hadn’t lied when she’d said no other man had been like him, and that included not only the fierce tenderness, but this magnificent specimen of manhood. And she wanted to get to know every decadent inch.

Buffy dropped her mouth lower, touching kisses to his scrotum. His cock twitched with each kiss and lick and nip of teeth against the soft skin of his ball sac. She loved watching that, feeling that. She felt powerful. She felt sexy. She felt free.

Free. Like when they were racing the stars in the desert. She didn’t have to hide anything here. She didn’t have to hold back or pretend. If she wanted to stop now, and just be held, she knew Spike would do that. If she wanted to stay right here and explore everything about his body for the rest of the day, he’d be fine with that, too. If she wanted him to make love to her over and over, he would. If she wanted him to fuck her, he would. If she cried, he’d kiss her tears away. If she laughed, he’d laugh with her. If she wanted to sleep, he’d hold her. If she wanted to scream, he’d scream with her.

Free: Not under the control or in the power of another; able to act or do as one wishes.

How long had it been since she’d felt free? Since long before she died. Perhaps even since before she’d been Called. She wasn’t really free; not like she’d been in heaven. She was still the Slayer, or the Slayer once again. The world outside these walls still needed her to fight, to give, to keep it safe. But right here in this room, behind these doors, with this man, she could be Buffy. And whatever she was, whatever she wanted, whatever she said, would be okay.

Did Spike somehow know that? She couldn’t remember him calling her ‘Slayer’ even once since they’d come up here. Buffy. She was Buffy. And right here, with Spike, she was free.

She sucked first one, then the other of his balls into her mouth, lolling them around within the wet heat with her tongue. He cursed and gasped and moaned. His cock jumped and hardened just that much more. She would’ve asked him if he liked that, but she was sure she already knew the answer – plus, her mouth was full of his balls.

Buffy took her time, kissing and sucking, licking and nibbling on Spike. She discovered if she bit down gently on the soft flesh of his inside thighs that his legs would twitch and jump a lot like hers did when he did that to her. She discovered that he was keen on having his taint licked and his ass teased with her fingers and tongue. She discovered if she slipped a finger inside him like he’d done her, his body shuddered uncontrollably, and his cock pulsed and jerked as if it had a mind of its own. She discovered that he liked how her hair felt wrapped around his cock, and how it felt trailing over his abdomen … pretty much, he liked her hair, wherever it was touching him. She even discovered a few more ticklish spots, behind his knees and the bottoms of his feet.

“You’re bloody killing me, woman,” he complained more than once, reaching for her, urging her back atop him, but she resisted all such pleas … for a while.

When she returned her teasing little mouth to his cock, Spike groaned in frustrated pleasure. Her tongue traced around the base of his glans, drawing rough moans from Spike’s throat.  When she nibbled her way up over the taught frenulum band, Spike cursed and his hips jerked up of their own free will.

“Like that?” she asked sweetly, before touching her tongue back down on that magical spot.

“Bloody fuck, Buffy … Jesus … yes … fuck,” he gasped, his hands curled into the sheets on either side of him, holding on for dear life, as he’d been for the better part of half an hour.

“How about this?” she wondered, licking up and dabbing her tongue into the pearl of precum that glistened atop his glans.

“Fuck … yes,” he ground out, using all his willpower not to reach down and guide her teasing little mouth down over him. Now that her mouth was back on his cock, he didn’t want to jeopardize that, perhaps have her start all over with her tantalizing torment.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, swallowing the tangy liquid as she began nipping and licking her way around the bulbous glans, making his cock twitch and jump wildly. “And this?”

“Yes!” he agreed, as his hands tightened on the sheets and the sound of ripping percale joined her hums of pleasure.

“Tell me if there’s anything you _don’t_ like,” she teased, slipping the end of his cock into her mouth and lavishing the head with her tongue. Her hands weren’t idle, either, one cupping his heavy balls, the other stroking up and down the length of his shaft.

“Fuck … killin’ me! Jesus …” Spike complained yet again, gritting his teeth to keep from thrusting deep and hard into her hot little mouth.

Buffy moaned around his cock, her tongue once again finding that super-sensitive spot on the underside and flicking it gently. It was all Spike could do to keep from spurting into her mouth right then.

“If you keep that up, gonna have a mouth full o’ spunk, luv,” he warned her as his hips began to move with each stroke of her hand up and down his shaft.

“Mmmmmm…” she hummed around him, dropping her mouth down further, taking as much of his column of steel into her hot, wet mouth as she could. She began to pump him in earnest, her mouth dropping down hard as her hand stroked up, meeting in the middle.

“Fuck, woman … I bloody warned –” he gasped as his control slipped from his tenuous grasp. He thrust up, his hips shuddering out of his control as his balls tightened, drawing up against his body. She could feel the spasms of his orgasm beginning and pumped him harder, swallowing wildly as the head of his cock hit the back of her throat.

A deep, rumbling growl of release and pleasure boiled up from deep in his belly as Spike’s cum erupted from his balls, surging through his cock in pulse after pulse of pure bliss. Buffy kept pumping him, urging every drop from his body, sucking and licking and swallowing as fast as she could, not wanting to lose even a little.

“Buffy, holy fuck, woman … bloody buggering fuck!” he snarled as the world exploded behind his closed lids, leaving only the vision of the beautiful woman sucking him off dancing across his vision. Taking him. Demanding everything from him. Her hot mouth and tongue felt like heaven wrapped in sin, her hand like the devil herself had hold of him, squeezing and stroking with wild abandon. It was bloody incredible.

His dreams, once again, had not done her justice. He’d never imagined how strong everything about her would be, from her hot little cunt to her tongue to her lips, even her hands seemed somehow stronger, hotter than ever before. Holy fuck. He wanted nothing but more. More of her. All of her. And to give her all of him, in return. His heart was hers. His mind as well. Now, his body. Completely, utterly under her command.

When Spike’s eyes finally blinked open, Buffy was grinning down at him, dabbing his spunk from the corners of her mouth. He nearly spewed another load right then, watching her.

“So, I guess you liked that?” she asked, running her tongue over her lips to gather up any stray drops.

Spike shook his head, unable to speak.

“No? You didn’t like it?” she asked, her brows drawing together in confusion.

He shook his head again and tried to say something, but it came out as a squeak.

“Don’t tell me I sucked your brain out through your dick,” she joked, biting her lip as she waited.

Spike nodded then, making her laugh again, which made the love inside him expand just that much more. “Didn’t like it,” he finally rasped out. “Incredible that was … you’re … Bloody hell, Buffy. Never touched heaven before … ‘til you.”

“Yeah?” she prodded, clearly fishing, her eyes dancing with satisfaction. “I didn’t … hurt you, did I?”

Spike shook his head, reaching for her, wanting to feel her body against his again. She went, willingly. Sliding flesh against flesh, supple curves against sharp lines, heat against coolness. Their lips met, arms wrapped around each other, their bodies fitting together perfectly. Spike savored the taste of himself on her skin, swirling his tongue over her soft lips, dipping into the depths of her mouth. The spicy, coppery tang of his cum mingling with the flavor of Buffy was a heady combination. It was one he’d dreamed of but had given up on actually experiencing. He wasted no time getting drunk on the sharp, sweet flavor and 100 Proof burn of the devilish, heavenly blend.

“Need to be inside you, luv. Need more … all of you,” he panted against her mouth as he turned them back over, raining kisses over her face the whole time.

“Now? Again? So soon?” she questioned, but then she felt his hard, yearning cock against her thigh and her question was answered for her.

“Been waiting for this a long time, Buffy … waiting for you,” he replied, touching more kisses across her neck as he lined his body up with hers.

“You’ve been saving up? Like a Christmas Club Account?” she teased, capturing his face between her palms and stopping the frantic peppering of love he was raining down on her. “Is that actually possible?”

Their gazes met, and he saw it. He bloody well saw it. Joy. Happiness. Life. Love? Maybe not. Not yet, but there was a flicker of light there, hiding in the emerald depths of her eyes.  He kissed her then. Slowly. Deeply. Thoroughly. It was there. His heart exploded with rapture. He’d touched it. It could grow. She was here. With him. All of her. He could feel it.

“Want you,” Buffy murmured against his lips as their mouths slowly parted.

“Want you so bloody much,” Spike rasped back, lifting up onto his hands as her legs wrapped around his hips again.

“Show me … show me how much,” she whispered as she reached between them and guided him to her, both of their bodies shivering with anticipation and desire. Spike pressed forward, pinning his cock against her slick opening, and their eyes met and held again.

Buffy bit her bottom lip, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her entire body beginning to quiver with raw, feral need. “Show me,” she breathed, digging her heels into his ass, urging him on.

Spike’s gaze turned sultry, a small flash of gold ripping through the blue, and Buffy grinned up at him. “Show. Me,” she demanded, her own eyes sparkling with mischief and passion.

With a grunt of effort and a growl of satisfaction, Spike thrust into her in one brutal stroke. Buffy cried out in pleasure, her body arching against him, taking him.

“Yes! Yes! More!” she demanded, clinging to his shoulders.

Another rumbling growl filled the entire house and he was driving into her madly, thrusting at a bruising pace. The earlier slow dance was replaced by the wild beat of heavy metal, and they both lost themselves in the dance. Wild and free they rose and fell, slamming together and parting time and again. Preternatural strength and passion taking over, driving them into a frenzy of lust and primal need.

Buffy’s hips jerked up to meet Spike’s, taking everything he was giving and returning it ten-fold. There were no soft sighs now, they became desperate cries, whispered adorations became raucous demands, tender touches became crushing possession. The feather floating in the clouds became a rocket ship which left the atmosphere behind, traveling along the moonbeams, heading straight for the sparkling stars.

“Spike, yes! Harder … God, yes! More! Like that!” Buffy demanded, her nails digging into the hard flesh of his back as she clung to him.

Spike growled with painful pleasure as she broke the skin, and drove against her, plunging his cock balls-deep into her tight, throbbing channel, time and time again. Her cunt clung to him, her inner-muscles closing around his shaft like a vise; pulling out became an effort. The effort was worth it as he thrust back in with powerful jerks of his hips, opening her supple walls to him once again.  

“Fuck, Buffy … fucking hell … so bloody hot … Jesus … never … anyone … like … you,” he gasped out, punctuating each word with a feverish drive of his cock into her.

His pubic bone slammed down onto her clit with every savage thrust, sending white-hot bursts of plutonium spiraling out from her core in all directions. Each hiss of indrawn breath, each grunt of effort, each growl rumbling over her skin took her higher, up into the darkness above the world, up where only angels dared to tread.

“Spike! Please! More … So good! Harder! Fuck! Yes! Yes … God … fuck … Yesssssssssssssssss! Cumming! Fuck! Yessssssssssssssss!” she screamed as the rocket ship exploded in a shower of sparks and sent her hurtling through a blissful ocean of euphoria. She landed among the stars, their sparkling light caressing her, lighting the darkness inside, reminding her of what might be. What could be. What it was to feel alive. Not heaven, but closer.

Spike’s hips jerked, his column of steel thrusting into her wildly, intent on taking her higher and higher, her screams of orgasmic pleasure at once driving him on and unraveling his control once again.

“Cum, Buffy … cum for me … cum hard … Fuck … Jesus, Buffy … FUCK!”  he ground out as her body spasmed and shuddered beneath him, her screams dying, leaving her lips still parted in silent rapture.

Buffy’s arms and legs tightened around him of their own accord, pulling him against her with uncontrolled Slayer strength. He plunged his cock into her with one last, fierce thrust as the final thread of his control evaporated like mist in the sunrise.

“FUCK! YES!” he exclaimed as shards of ecstasy crashed through his body, his balls contracting, pulsing with their sweet release, shooting volley after volley of cum into her welcoming depths.

Her body milked him, squeezing and releasing, throbbing around his cock, demanding every drop of pleasure from him. He gave it freely, lost in all the sensations she was pouring over him. Her skin heated him all the way to his marrow. Her strong muscles held him to her soft curves tight enough to break him. Her thudding heart and singing blood called desperately to his barely-controlled demon, who was demanding his own rapture. Her silent scream of bliss frozen on her beautiful lips confirmed that she’d found it. She’d found what he’d already seen in her eyes.

“Love you. Love you, Buffy, so bloody much,” Spike panted against her as her limbs finally began to relax, allowing him to draw in enough breath to speak.

She touched hot, wet kisses against his face, still holding him with arms and legs. “Don’t move, just stay here. So good, Spike … God … you make me feel so good … so alive.”

“Stay forever, luv,” he whispered against her ear as they melted together in each other’s arms.

Not heaven, but closer. So much closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! More to come.
> 
> Thanks to Holi117 for sharing her time and talent with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> Thanks to pfeifferpack for the lovely, inspiring banner!


	4. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope returns.

* * *

 

“Buffy! I’m home!” Dawn called that afternoon, dropping her book bag on the floor by the door with a loud _thump_.

Buffy jerked awake, a heavy weight draped over her in the form of Spike’s arm and one leg, his front spooning against her back as he held her to him.

“Spike?” she whispered, trying to slip out from his grasp. “Spike … can you just…”

“BUFFY! Are you home?” Dawn called again.

Spike groaned sleepily, turning over, grabbing a pillow and covering his head with it, blocking out the unwelcome commotion.

Buffy sighed in relief and slipped from the bed. She _so_ didn’t need Dawn just walking in on them. Buffy pulled her robe on quickly as Dawn’s heavy footfalls began to stomp up the steps.

“Shhhh!” the Slayer admonished her sister in the hall, a moment before another round of teenage bellowing started. Buffy pulled the bedroom door closed with a soft click, Dawn’s eyes shifting from her disheveled, robe-wearing sister to the door and back again.

“Is Spike in there?” Dawn whispered, her eyes growing wider by the moment. “Did you have sex with Spike?!? OH MY GOD! You had sex with Spike!”

“Shhhh!” Buffy repeated, grabbing Dawn by the arm and guiding her back down the stairs. “Tell the whole world, why don’t you?”

“I thought you said ‘pie’ wasn’t code for ‘sex’!” Dawn continued. “You are sooo busted!”

“It’s not,” Buffy insisted. “Pie is pie, and sex is …”

Dawn turned to face her sister at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes wide and eager. “Yeah? Sex with Spike is …??”

A wide grin spread across Buffy’s face, lighting a spark of gleeful delight in the depths of her eyes. “Sex with Spike is… _Wow_!” she admitted with a girlish giggle.

“Oh, Buffy!” Dawn gushed, hugging her tightly while simultaneously jumping up and down. “I’m so happy for you! And Spike!” The girl pulled back and grabbed Buffy’s hand, dragging her over to the couch and plopping down. “Tell me everything!” she insisted conspiratorially.

“I’m not telling you anything!” Buffy retorted indignantly, but she was still grinning. “Oh, my God, Dawn! I had sex with Spike!”

“And it was ‘wow’ … and you aren’t giving me any details!” Dawn sulked. “Sisters should share details!”

“No details!” Buffy retorted again.

“Okay … generalities, then! Is he better than … Riley?”

Buffy rolled her eyes and bit her lip to curb her grin. “Yes.”

“Better than Angel?”

Buffy made an ‘eek’ face, but then said, “Yes.”

“I knew he would be!” Dawn gushed. “Angel’s such a prude!”

Buffy laughed. “Angel’s not a prude, he’s just …”

“Dull and boring,” Dawn provided.

Buffy shook her head, but didn’t argue, the stupid ‘I-just-had-incredible-sex’ grin still plastered on her face. Was this another flash of ‘normalcy’? Two sisters gushing over boys. Not that Spike was a boy, but … it felt like that. Like something normal sisters would do. It ignited a little ember of warmth deep inside Buffy, a glint of … hope?

Dawn’s expression softened. “You look happy, Buffy,” she pointed out. “Like, really happy. Like … ‘before’ happy.”

Buffy took a deep breath and her expression sobered. “I … well, I’ve felt flashes of … I guess ‘happiness’ works.”

“With Spike?” Dawn pressed.

“O-on the motorcycle with him … I felt, well, just free. And then, later, he just held me and I felt like things would be okay, like he would keep me from … just disappearing into nothing. And then when we …” Buffy cleared her throat. “I mean … later, when … and … ummm …”

“Too much with the stammering and not enough with the details,” Dawn teased.

Buffy gave her an indulgent smile. “It’s funny, when Angel felt perfect happiness, his curse was broken and he lost his soul. I think I may have that, but in reverse. Like, if I just touch the stars … touch heaven a moment, it’s almost like my soul wakes up a little bit more … like maybe a tiny part of it finds its way back? Like I … un-lose it, bit by bit?”

“Oh, Buffy,” Dawn sighed, leaning in and hugging her sister again. “I’m so sorry… I-I can’t say I’m sorry you’re back – I love you and missed you so much – but I’m sorry it’s been so hard for you.”

“It’s not your fault, Dawnie,” Buffy assured her, hugging her back. “I know I haven’t been … fully back. I-I’m doing my best. It might take a while.”

“You mean, you may have to have lots of sex with Spike so you can find perfect happiness over and over and over?” Dawn teased, pulling back to grin at her sister.

Buffy shrugged, smothering a wider smile. “Well, I think I should give it a fair chance, right? I mean, Chosen One here, if that’s the sacrifice I have to make…” Buffy smirked at her sister.

“You’re all about the self-sacrifice,” Dawn laughed, but then her face fell into seriousness again. “He loves you, Buffy. He’s my friend. He’s … he’s not just all that Big Bad stuff, ya know? He’s got a good heart … a tender heart. Don’t break it, okay?”

Buffy nodded, her own expression sobering. “I know, Dawn. I-I warned him that I’m not … all here. I … don’t know what will happen, but I’ll try. I don’t want to hurt him. It’s all I can promise right now.”

Dawn took a deep breath and let it out, nodding. “Okay, well, just know, that I’ll be super-pissed if you screw this up. The wrath of Dawn will come down on you.”

“Didn’t they make a Star Trek movie about that?” Buffy joked.

“Totally! And I still haven’t gotten my royalties for it,” Dawn agreed, her smile returning.

There was a muffled sound from upstairs, drawing both girls’ eyes upwards.

“Oh! Uh … I just remembered,” Dawn said, jumping up. “I was supposed to go … go, um … over to Janice’s to study,” she announced unconvincingly, heading over to the door and picking up her book bag. “I’ll just … be on my way. I’ll be gone for hours! Hours and hours! All night if you want!”

Buffy got up and followed her. “That won’t be necessary. Spike and I will come get you at nine. I don’t want you walking home alone after dark.”

Dawn looked up at the clock on the wall and grinned at her sister. “Just how many moments of perfect happiness can Spike give you in five hours?”

“None. Of. Your. Business,” Buffy insisted sternly, opening the door for Dawn. She wagged her brows then and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “So very many!”

Dawn giggled and headed out. “Best get to that, then! Tick-tock!”

   **** X-X-X-X-X ****

Dawn hurried down the front walk onto the sidewalk, almost skipping. Buffy had sounded more like herself than she had the whole time since she’d been back. And she was with Spike! Things were looking better than they had in months!

“Oh! Sorry!” Dawn exclaimed as she turned a corner and ran right into a middle-aged woman, nearly knocking her down.

“It’s alright, honey,” the woman assured her as Dawn caught her shoulders to help the woman regain her balance. “It was completely my fault. Not watching where I was going. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, sure, fine,” Dawn said, releasing the hold she had on the woman’s shoulders. “Do I know you?”

The woman shook her head, her eyes widening a moment. “No! I mean … I don’t think so. I’m just … visiting some old friends in the neighborhood.”

Dawn shook her head slightly. “Oh … okay,” she agreed. “It’s weird, I guess something just … reminded me of someone.”

The woman smiled, and her face seemed to transform into something more, practically stunning. “I get that a lot, Dawn. Must just have one of those faces.”

Dawn’s brows furrowed. “How do you know my name?”

The woman pointed to the name scrawled in black marker across her canvas bookbag. “I assumed you hadn’t stolen it…”

Dawn looked down, then back up, embarrassed. “Oh, yeah. No … who would steal a bookbag, right?”

The woman smiled again, her face glowing warmly, as if lit from within. “Well, it was lovely to meet you.”

“Sure, you too… ummm … what was your name?”

“Hope,” the woman replied.

“Pretty name,” Dawn said. “Maybe I’ll see you again. I’ll try not to bowl you over next time.”

Hope nodded, a sad smile curving her lips, the light seeming to dim a bit. “I’m sure we’ll meet again … one day, honey.”

Hope turned and began walking away. Dawn watched her a moment, her brows furrowed, something still niggling at the edges of her consciousness. Something oddly familiar about the woman … her voice, maybe? Or just the tone of voice? Finally, she shook it off and headed for Janice’s, the bounce still in her step, a smile curving her lips, and a song in her heart. _Buffy and Spike, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…_

   **** X-X-X-X-X ****

When Buffy re-entered the bedroom, Spike was on his side, propped up on one elbow, waiting.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “Dawn. ‘Quiet’ isn’t in her vocabulary.”

“’S alright, luv. Waking up in your bed, even without you in it, covered in your scent …” He shrugged. “Well, not complainin’, am I?”

Buffy bit her bottom lip, her eyes flicking back toward the door nervously. “How much of that did you hear?”

Spike curled his tongue over his teeth, a smug grin curving his lips. “Enough.”

Buffy groaned and rolled her head to the ceiling. “Stupid vampire hearing,” she muttered.

Spike laughed. “Didn’t need vampire hearing, did I? ’Quiet’ isn’t really in your vocabulary either, luv.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head in dismay. Well, it wasn’t like anything she said was untrue. And probably not anything Spike didn’t already know, honestly. Buffy dismissed it. Why waste time worrying about water that had washed the bridge away? She had better things to waste time on.

Buffy dropped her robe on the floor and slid into the bed, back into his arms. “Well, now that you’re awake … I wonder what we could do?” she teased, pressing the length of her soft, warm, willing body against his.

“That is a riddle, innit? Parcheesi?” Spike suggested, wrapping his arms around her and rolling over, pulling her atop him.

Buffy laughed. “Not exactly what I had in mind,” she replied, her mussed hair falling over his chest in a curtain of silken sunshine.

“Oh, backgammon, then? Chess?”

Buffy made a face.

“No chess,” Spike agreed. “Checkers? Chinese Checkers?” he continued, as Buffy straddled him and sat back. Her hips began to undulate sensually, stroking his already-hard cock where it was trapped between their bodies.

“A world of ‘no’ to board games,” she replied, grinning down at him. “I had something more … physical in mind.”

Spike looked out the window, then back up at her. “Bit early for patrol. Sparring, then?”

“We can call it ‘sparring’ if you want,” she agreed, lifting up and guiding his hard cock to her slick, wet opening.  Their eyes met and held, neither blinking, neither even seeming to breathe in that moment. “But I think I like the term ‘making love’ better …” she admitted, as she slid down his length, taking him into her slowly, deliberately, inch by tantalizing inch.

Spike gasped as he entered her, blissful fireworks exploding in his belly and rolling out like ripples in a pond, threatening to drown him in rapture. “Seems fitting,” he rasped finally as her ass hit his lap, his cock buried within her warm, supple depths to the hilt. “Cos, I love you, Buffy.”

Buffy didn’t reply, but leaned down and kissed him, deeply, slowly, passionately. Spike’s hands trailed up and down her sides and back with feathery touches, tingling her skin with cool fire. Their bodies began to move, rocking gently against each other, rolling with the currents of pleasure that lapped at their bodies like bubbling ocean waves.

“Take me to heaven,” she breathed against his lips as they flowed together and apart, his sword slipping in and out of her velvet sheath, the dance building slowly from sensuous towards feverish.

“Not heaven. Closer,” Spike rasped back, reaching a hand between them to find her clit.

Buffy inhaled sharply as his talented fingers found that bundle of nerves, sending a new swell of euphoric sparks rocketing through her veins.

“Closer … is … good,” she gasped as her eyes fluttered closed and she lost herself in the dance, letting herself drown in the swelling tide of pleasure as another tiny flicker of hope ignited within her soul.   

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Spike stumbled down the stairs several hours later. He’d managed to get his jeans on, though somehow fastening the belt seemed beyond his ability to manage. The ends dangled from the loops, the buckle jangling like a bell with each heavy step.

He found Buffy in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar, which was covered with books and papers. She was smirking up at him as he entered, running a hand over his face and through his disheveled curls as he tried to wake up.

“I have to admit that’s better than a bell around your neck,” she teased as he trundled to the fridge and opened it.

He muttered something Buffy couldn’t hear, sliding the milk and OJ aside and grabbing a container of blood from the back. He opened it and sniffed, shrugging. Old, but not rancid, at least.

“Did I break you?” she wondered, still smiling at him as he moved around the kitchen like it was his own, grabbing a mug from the cabinet.

“Huh?” he asked, looking around at her as if he’d forgotten she was there.

“Do I need to call a vampire repairman for you?”

Spike shook himself, trying to force more blood up toward his brain, as he put the mug into the microwave, realized he hadn’t but any blood in it, and pulled it back out.

Buffy laughed again and got up from her seat, coming over to where he was working diligently on pouring the blood into the mug. “Let me,” she suggested. “You’re likely to burn the house down or something the rate you’re going.”

“Ta,” he muttered, handing her the container of blood and backing up to lean against the breakfast bar. “Just a little … uh … drained.”

“So I noticed,” she teased as she put the mug of blood into the microwave and set it to warming. “Guess I need to take it easier on you in the future.”

Spike sniffed, coming a bit more awake, and stood up straighter. “Can take anything you dish out, Slayer. Just need a bit o’ sustenance now and again t’ keep things … flowing. Cocoa and stale donuts aren’t proper fare for a vamp. Haven’t had any blood since yesterday afternoon, have I?”  

“Well, I guess I better keep plenty of blood on hand, then, huh?” she suggested as the microwave ‘dinged’.

Spike bit his lip, watching her turn around and retrieve the blood for him. Did that mean he’d be stayin’ here more? Lots more? Would every ‘date’ end with hours of heaven in her arms? If so, when could they go on another? Now? The sun was sinking outside; could he whisk her away again?

Buffy cleared some of the papers away and set the mug down on the breakfast bar, inviting him to sit.

“What’s all this, then?” he asked as he pulled one of the stools out and sat down in front of the warm mug.

“Research,” she answered, coming around to sit next to him, in front of what he now saw were road atlases, a couple of old Encyclopedia Britannicas, and a map of California. “There are some other mountains that I think we could get to and back in one night. They aren’t paved all the way to the top, though, but gravel works okay, doesn’t it?” she asked, pulling out the map of California and showing him a couple of places she’d circled.

“Probably not enough hours of dark in the summer,” she continued as he took the map from her. “But in the winter …” she suggested with a shrug.

Spike sipped his blood, trying to seem nonchalant. Was she asking him to take her on more rides? Up more mountains? Closer and closer to heaven? Further and further away from that horrible promise of ‘one good day’ she’d made him agree to?

He stared at the map, trying to school his racing thoughts and mentally calculate the distance and time it would take to reach these destinations.

When he didn’t say anything, Buffy continued, “I mean, you said we could go back to Rock Creek; I just thought …” she shrugged again, wringing her hands anxiously. “We could explore some other places, too. A-and … you don’t have to pay for everything. W-we could take turns.”

Spike finally looked up at her, swallowing back the hope and joy and the very real fear that he was mistaking her meaning. “Ya wanna got up these, then? On the motorbike? With me?”

“Umm…yes,” Buffy furrowed her brow and bit her lip. “Isn’t that what I said?”

A slow smile spread over Spike’s face as relief washed through him. He hadn’t mistaken her meaning. Bloody hell! More trips. More dates. More Buffy! He cleared his throat, composing himself, and looked back at the map. “Yeah, reckon these would work,” he agreed, nodding. “Be cold again, though … winter and mountains and all.”

Buffy let out a sigh of relief. For a moment she thought he was gonna say no, that he wouldn’t take her. “Yeah, I’ll totally be looking into some actual winter gear. LL Bean and I may become besties.”

Spike looked up at her, his eyes practically glittered with joy as he drank her in. She was back in her flannel, sleepy sheep PJs, she’d brushed her hair and it hung in waves around her shoulders, her face was flushed, almost glowing, her green eyes looking hopeful.

Hopeful. Full of hope. He wasn’t sure she’d ever been more beautiful. “Well, Christmas is comin’ up, too, ya know? Ya could find some goodies from Santa under the tree.”

Buffy grinned at him slyly. “Would this Santa happen to have washboard abs that quiver like jelly when you tickle his belly?”

“Oi! Told ya before, vampires aren’t ticklish,” he contended, sniffing. “And … yeah, could be that Santa.”

Buffy’s smile faded a bit, her expression becoming more serious. “I don’t want you stealing stuff for me, Spike. I’ve got some leads on a couple of jobs and—”

“Not stealing, Buffy. Got money, don’t I?” he assured her, taking a long swallow of the blood.

“I … you do? Because, mostly, you seem less with the Daddy Warbucks and more with the Oliver Twist.”

“Have you ever heard of ‘compound interest’?” he asked, setting his mug down and turning more in his seat to face her.

“Is that a math thing? Cos me and math broke up in high school. It was messy … ugly really. We don’t speak.”

Spike snorted. “Yeah, it’s a math thing, but to put in in terms you’ll understand: If ya put two vampires in a room with two numpties and leave ‘em a while, what would ya have?”

“Uhhh … four vampires?” Buffy guessed.

“And if ya tossed a few more blighters in the room, what would ya have?”

“More vampires?”

“Works the same way with money when ya put it in a bank. Start off with a couple o’ vamps, and a century later, you’re overrun with the buggers. Merry bushels of fangs.”

“So, you’re telling me you’re _overrun_ with money? Cos, I think you still owe Giles five bucks from, like, a year ago,” she pointed out.

“ _Pfft_!” Spike dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Can’t be bothered t’ go to the bank for trifles, can I? Anyway, just like taking the piss outta Rupert. But for you … for Dawn … for … closer to heaven? Can make the trip.”

Buffy chewed her lip, studying him. “Where did the original vampires come from? Did you … steal them?”

Spike snorted. “Came from my … estate, I reckon you’d call it. Didn’t have a wife or bits, did I? So, I just transferred the money over t’ a different bank. Same one Angelus and Darla used. One with … evening hours. Just because it’s mine doesn’t make it evil, pet.”

Buffy nodded solemnly. “How much overrunning are we talking here? I mean … wow … rude, much? But …”

Spike gave her an earnest smile. “Enough to keep you and Dawn in frilly dresses and crossbows for life. If you’d let me.”

“I’m not good at staying dead,” she reminded him. “Life could be a while.”

_Life could be a while?_ Did that mean …? What did that mean? “Reckon I could manage it. Whatever you need, Buffy, if you let me, I can help.”

Buffy looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “It’s your money … I … couldn’t just take it.”

“Not taking it, luv. I’m offering it.” Offering. Isn’t that what Hope said? Offer. Offer again. Offer a hundred times.

She looked back up and gave him a tentative smile. “We’ll see … I … I do have some leads on some jobs,” she demurred. “But … I mean, I couldn’t stop Santa from slipping down the chimney and … I don’t know, dropping off a snowsuit or something.”

Spike smiled at her, nodding. “Hard t’ keep the jolly bugger out, I reckon.” He’d offer again later. Offer a hundred times if he had to. Never give up.

“Right? Especially since he’s been invited in already,” Buffy agreed.

Spike nodded again then downed the rest of his blood, feeling much better than he had when he’d first stumbled down the stairs. She was taking what he was offering. Not all of it, but some. Crumbs. Crumbs could turn into pie with time. Carpe Pie.

“So, what’s this other map ya got?” he asked, reaching for the ‘Rand McNally Road Atlas of the United States’ that she had open in front of her.

Buffy slapped her hand down on it. “Oh, ummm … that was just … uh …”

Spike arched a brow at her and pulled the book out from under her hand. “Colorado,” he read at the top of the open page. “Got some right high roads there, I reckon,” he observed casually, looking to see if she’d marked anything on the page, but didn’t see anything circled. Yet?

He looked back up at her, expectantly.

Buffy sighed and started wringing her hands in her lap again. When she started talking the words just continued to come, like one of those talking dolls whose ‘off’ button was broken. “I was just … well, I gave you a year … or _me_ year to, _you know_ … and so a year would include a summer, since summers usually do come within the twelve months that make up a typical year, and Dawn had said something about wanting to go see Aunt Darlene during summer break since she’s never actually met her other than in the fake memories. I know it wouldn’t be the same as just you and me on the motorcycle, but, you know, Colorado is kind of between Illinois and California and I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind driving, cos I’m not that great with the whole driving part of road trips, and there are some really high roads in there, really close to heaven, and there might even be pie in Colorado, which, again, is between here and…”

“If you don’t take a breath, I reckon I’ll have t’ learn CPR right quick-like,” Spike interrupted her.

Buffy stopped talking and did take a breath, biting her bottom lip and looking up at him hopefully.

Spike’s brows drew together sternly. “So, let me see if I got this right. You expect me to take time outta my busy schedule t’ drive you and the bit all the way across the soddin’ country t’ see your aunt—”

“And cousins,” Buffy interjected.

“And cousins,” Spike added, keeping his face a mask of semi-annoyance. “And dither about there while you and the bit visit with all yer bloody relatives, who didn’t even bother to come t’ yer mum’s funeral, I might add. Then drive ya back, with lengthy detours and stops in Colorado on these mile-high roads so you can get closer t’ heaven and possibly find pie. That about the gist of it?”

“Yeah, that would be as full of gist as it gets,” Buffy agreed, her shoulders slumping, looking chagrined. Of course he didn’t want to drive across the country with her and Dawn. How much of a crimp in his style would having a teenager along as chaperone be?

Spike looked down at the map of Colorado a moment, then back up at her and shrugged. “Sounds bloody brilliant t’ me, pet. Do we have to wait for summer?”

A slow smile curved Buffy’s lips. “You’re evil, you know that, right?”

“Been telling you lot that for soddin’ years,” Spike replied, a smirk quirking his mouth.

“What am I gonna do with you?” she wondered, standing up and grabbing his empty mug, heading to the sink to rinse it out.

“Well, could keep doing what you’ve been doin’ all day,” he suggested cheekily. “Draining me dry.”

Buffy turned around to face him, checking the clock. Still had some time before they’d have to go get Dawn. “Are you sure you’re up for that? I wouldn’t want to damage you beyond repair,” she teased.

“I’m _up_ for anything you got, Slayer. Always up for you,” he assured her, standing and coming around the counter to where she was.

Buffy squeaked as he suddenly bent down and pressed his shoulder into her stomach and wrapped one arm around her legs, lifting her into a fireman’s carry. “Unhand me you fiend!” she joked, laughing as she batted playfully at his lower back and ass with her fists.

Spike’s knees went weak with the sound of her laughter. Buffy truly laughing. Was there anything more melodious? Well, one thing was: Buffy sighing or screaming his name as she came. Bloody hell, how many miracles had there been now? How many did he owe? It didn’t bloody matter. He’d pay for them with all the blood in his veins, with gallons of tears, with pounds of flesh, with the marrow from his bones.

He began to laugh with her as he headed back toward the stairs, Buffy wriggling and giggling in his grasp.

Closer to heaven.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

“I can see where d’girl gets it from,” Doyle chastised warmly in his lilting Irish accent as he suddenly appeared on the street. “Stubborn, determined women, the Summers clan.”

The waitress turned to him, not surprised in the least by his abrupt appearance. “Just a few more minutes,” she requested as they watched Buffy, Spike and Dawn walking up Revello on their way back to the house. Dawn’s bookbag was slung across her body and the three were chatting amiably about how Janice’s mom made French fries – from scratch! From actual potatoes! Like… that you had to wash and peel and cut and everything!

“By my watch, you’ve already had hours ‘more minutes’ that weren’t parta the deal," Doyle pointed out.

"Then a few more won't matter," the waitress insisted.

“See what I mean? Stubborn, determined women.” Doyle shook his head ruefully, a small smile quirking one side of his mouth. 

The trio walked right past the two people on the street, not seeing them. Hope stepped forward longingly, reaching out as if to touch them one last time, but… it was no use. She was a ghost to them. She was a ghost to everyone again.

“Can’t help but wonder, though, jus’ how did y’get the vampire to take her up d’ mountain?” Doyle asked curiously, watching the trio walk by.

Joyce sighed as she felt her borrowed visage of ‘Hope’ melt and shift into her own form, the one she couldn’t show them. There was no sense keeping it in placed now; they couldn't see her any longer. The disguise, borrowed from a great aunt on her mother's side, had been part of the deal… Buffy and Spike couldn’t know who she really was.

‘Small nudges’ was all she’d been allowed by the Powers when they’d made the agreement to let her come back for this very limited engagement. She’d hoped it would be enough, had been certain she could handle it. But now… watching them all, being so near and yet so far away, she wondered how she could ever bear to leave them again. She’d already pushed the boundaries of the deal well beyond breaking point, but she didn’t care. Just a few more minutes… What were the Powers going to do? Kill her?

“I just whispered in a dead man’s ear,” she answered, not taking her eyes off her girls and Spike. “Just gave him the _ghost_ of an idea. He figured the rest out from there.”

“Puns. Another Summers’ trait, I see,” Doyle drawled in amusement.

Her daughters and the one person in all the world who loved them as much as Joyce herself disappeared into the house. Was it normal for a ghost to feel hot tears welling in their eyes?

Doyle sighed. “Time t’ go, darlin’,” he said again softly, placing an encouraging hand on her shoulder.

“One more minute,” Joyce pleaded, pulling away and hurrying around to the back of the house. She watched lights flick on as she waited outside the kitchen window. Waiting for another glimpse …

And there it was. They were talking excitedly now. Questioning. Looking around. Joyce felt the tears slip down her cheeks as her eldest looked out the window right at her … right _through_ her. “Buffy … oh, Buffy, honey,” she murmured, taking another step closer to the house.

Spike came out the back door and into the yard, nearly walking into her. “Spike…” she sighed, reaching for him, but unable to feel more than a tug of wind against her incorporeal form. He stopped, as if he’d felt her, looked around again, then went back inside.

“Dere’s nothin’ else you can do, Joyce. We really gotta go now… the bigwigs get dere knickers all twisted when deals aren’t kept t’ code. They could take it all back, undo all you’ve done,” Doyle warned, not unkindly.

Joyce turned and looked at him with angry eyes. “They wouldn’t dare!”

Doyle shrugged. “Been known t’ happen.”

Joyce shook her head mournfully, looking back through the window at the three inside. “Did I do enough?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

Doyle nodded. “She heard ya. She’s trustin’ him. He’ll take care o’ dem for ya. You’ve done whatcha came t’ do.”

“I love you all,” Joyce whispered to the group in the house. “Be happy. Carpe pie.”

Then, in a flash of white light, the two apparitions were gone, returned to the realm of souls.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

“I mean, I thought French fries came in bags in the freezer section,” Dawn said as they walked into the house. “Like … who knew they didn’t actually GROW like that? I thought there were crinkly fries and steak fries and shoestring fries, you know, like different kinds of apples.”

Spike shook his head. “What the bloody hell do they teach you in that school?” he wondered.

“Mostly how to make out with boys,” Dawn teased, dropping her bookbag on the floor by the door. She sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

Buffy and Spike smelled it too and hurried in front of her, Buffy flipping on lights as she went toward the kitchen, following her nose. She stopped in her tracks just as her feet hit the tile, Spike bowling into her back and propelling them both further into the room.

“What the hell?” the Slayer exclaimed, but she wasn’t yelling at Spike. She began looking around the room suspiciously, checking the back door, which was locked, then scanning the yard outside through the window.

“Pie!” Dawn cried, coming in behind the two supernatural beings. “Cherry pie! Ala mode!” she continued, walking up to the breakfast bar and eyeing the three pieces of perfect pie waiting there. “Where did we get pie?”

“We didn’t,” Buffy warned. “Don’t touch it!” she ordered, scanning the backyard through the window. A chill ran down her spine and she jerked her gaze back, her heart skipping and skittering in her chest as she stared into the empty yard, sure that someone was watching her.

“Do you see anything?” she rasped to Spike, who shook his head, but started for the back door anyway. He stepped out onto the small stoop, then leapt down into the yard in a swirl of black, forgoing the steps, but there was nothing there. Or nothing he could see. He felt a cold breeze tug at his duster sleeve, almost like a hand reaching for him, but then it was gone. He turned in a slow circle, trying to feel it again, but nothing more happened.

“Nothing, pet,” he said as he came back in, closing and locking the door behind himself.

Buffy’s brows drew together, and she shook her head, turning from the window to look at the three beautiful slices of cherry pie with vanilla ice cream melting artfully atop them. The ice cream had little specs of dark vanilla bean scattered over the creamy surface, the cherries were glistening red in the tart center, steam still rising from them as if just from the oven, the crust was golden and flaky, done just right.

“That looks familiar,” she observed, taking a wary step up to the counter.

“It does?” Dawn asked.

Buffy’s eyes flicked to her, then back down. “Long story,” she dismissed, chewing her bottom lip.

“Can we eat it?” Dawn asked. “Cos it looks delicious and I didn’t have dessert.”

Buffy looked up at Spike. “What do you think?”

He shrugged, hands on hips, and looked around again, but nothing jumped out at them, no waitresses with too-specific advice popped up from thin air. He went over to the silverware drawer and retrieved some utensils then dug into one of the pieces of pie, making sure to get a good helping of ice cream with it. He chewed thoughtfully, checking as best he could for anything that seemed off about it, but it just seemed to be cherry pie and vanilla ice cream.

“Bloody delicious,” he pronounced, going in for another bite.

Buffy’s furrowed brows softened, and she shrugged. “Carpe pie,” she whispered just as a bright flash of lightning illuminated the backyard.

They all turned to look, but again saw nothing.

“Is it supposed to rain?” Dawn asked as she dug into one of the slices, moaning in pleasure around the fork as the combination of flavors hit her tongue.

Buffy turned and took a step back over to the sink, looking out at the darkness beyond the window. “No …” she answered her sister. “I think that was a flash of Hope.”

Spike walked up to her, handing her the last slice of pie. Buffy took it, their eyes meeting and holding meaningfully for several moments. She smiled then and picked up the fork, turning her attention to the pie. The silver tines sliced through the layers: creamy, crisp, and fruit-filled. The final layer of crust was gooey with melted ice cream and the juice of the cherries, and she stabbed into it, using it to hold all the other layers on her fork as she lifted it away from the plate.

Drops of melted ice cream dripped and mingled with the juice of the cherries as Buffy leaned forward and slipped the bite between her lips, letting it settle on her tongue. Warm and cold. Soft and crunchy. Tart and sweet. Utter perfection. She closed her eyes and moaned as she began to chew, enjoying the feel, the flavors, the slickness of the cherries, the creaminess of the ice cream and the crispness of the flaky crust.

“Oh. My. God,” she breathed after finally swallowing that first bite. “That might be the best thing I've ever had in my mouth,” she declared.

Spike arched a brow at her and a bright flush rushed up her neck, flaming across her cheeks like a wildfire. She coughed out, “Not a word,” and turned, going back over to eat at the counter with Dawn.

Spike followed her, chuckling under his breath.

“It’s amazing!” Dawn agreed. “Where did it come from?” she asked, looking between the two blondes.

Buffy and Spike looked at each other, both shaking their heads slowly, a shrug tugging on their shoulders.

“Hope … I think it came from Hope,” Buffy said, looking back at Dawn.

“What does that mean?” the girl wondered.

A slow smile curved Buffy’s lips as she looked from Dawn to Spike and back again, her eyes glowing with that inner light that had been missing for too long. Buffy leaned into Spike’s side and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, as she picked up her pie.

Buffy stabbed the fork through all the layers of heavenly perfection.  “That everything’s gonna be alright,” she answered, lifting the bite of tart-sweet goodness to her lips. “Carpe all the pie.”

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this short, sweet (and tart and crunchy) story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> I hope you take time to carpe all the pie!
> 
> Thanks to Holi117 for sharing her time and talent with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> Thanks to pfeifferpack for the lovely, inspiring banner!

**Author's Note:**

> Rock Creek Road is a real road:
> 
> Rock Creek Road is said to be the highest paved public road in California. The road is located in the Eastern Sierra Nevada Mountains of Inyo County. 
> 
> The road is sharply winding with a precipitous ascent in a steep and narrow zig-zag, climbing to an elevation of 3.145 miles (10,320 ft) above the sea level, at Mosquito Flats. The surface of the road is asphalted, and chains or snow tires can be required anytime. This road is not clear of snow until late in May or early June.
> 
> This is an exquisite winding mountain drive with sharp and blind curves and hairpin switchbacks leading the traveler over the mountains. The climb is 22 miles, and the average grade is 5%. Maximum grade lower half is 9%, upper half is 11%. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> Thanks to Holi117 for sharing her time and talent with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> Thanks to pfeifferpack for the lovely banner!
> 
> More to come soon!


End file.
